


Speechless

by Nukyster



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brain Damage, Cocaine, Crimes & Criminals, Domestic Violence, Drama, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Extortion, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Gang Violence, Gangsters, Gen, Heavy Angst, Horses, Muteness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Speech Disorders, Torture, Violence, War Trauma, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2019-09-29 20:17:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 43
Words: 148,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17210222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nukyster/pseuds/Nukyster
Summary: What happens if you take away a man's strongest weapon? Set after the war ends and Small Heath tries to build up the shatters of what once where unbroken men. Tommy/OC





	1. Half a paycheck

 

 

 

.-.-.

Birmingham, Small Heath 1919,

It was a gloomy Monday morning, still too early for working men and women to head off to the factories. Besides a drunkard babbling to himself post passing-out, it was quiet.

A young lass hopped from sidewalk to the road, thankful for the large pompous city being at ease.

She became a resident of Small Heath a month ago, the city still frightened her. The constant chaos, The smoke, fire and heavy machinery. Although the war had ended and economy was flourishing, providing jobs and therefore warm meals and a roof over many fortunate heads, the thriving city seemed like a gigantic dark smoking monster ready to swallow her whole.

She despised Small Heath, every inch of it.

Skipping puddles as best she could, her pumps were worn down and anything but waterproof, she tried to find a street sign. After three weeks of residence, Small Heath was still a maze to her and she feared she would be running late on her first day of her new job.

Honestly, this possible job opportunity was the only thing that was keeping her going. A humble spark in the dark so to speak.

She passed a bakery and for a moment she dared to close her eyes and travel back to her hometown. To the paddocks, the cornfields, the sounds of crickets and the cleansing touch of morning dew. She would trade the stench-ridden cobblestoned roads back for the sandy streets. With just a handful of cars passing everyday simply because not a lot of men could afford to drive. Life had been hard and, disciplined, but kind. Waking up to feed the animals before heading to school. Sowing potato bags for winter, and, when money was tight, sewing clothes from potato bags. It didn’t matter, there was a unity in their humble society where no-one was left behind.

Until the war.

First young men volunteered, thrilled by the promise of adventure. But death swept most of them from their feet like the plague.

After them, some of the older man went to war. Some for glory, some for money, but most to avenge their lost sons. Blood was thicker than water and the fathers wanted to see the enemy’s blood.

Only a few men came back, what was left of them anyway.

A klaxon honked and the young lass swallowed away the bitterness of dejection.

 _Main Street_. A sigh escaped her lips, according to the directions she was almost there.

Charlie Strong’s Yard was nothing like she’d expected it to be. She’d been in the market with her mother when an older woman had picked her out of the crowd. The woman had talked about horses. Her heart had skipped a beat when she mentioned the noble creatures. After a few failed attempts at applying for a job in various textile mills she’d been dreadfully worried she she would need to get a job at the factory where her uncle worked. The man came back day after day covered with grime and occasionally with small, second degree burns from when the hot, molten steel was cast into ingots.

She was afraid she’d have to scrub her freckles off to her face clean of all the coal dust.

‘ _Tell ‘im Polly sent you, dear_ ’, the woman had said sternly, her lips pressed into a firm smile.

Hesitantly, she slowed down her steps as she walked along the docks. The lady had been kind to her, offering her a job at the stables, but during their short chat the woman made it clear with whole her bearing that she was not to be messed with. Her gaze had been clear and cold as she’d given her directions and the time.

Charlie Strong was, as Polly had predicted, smoking at the back of the yard leaning up against a chimney. His fingers scratched the tainted skin of his cheek as he watched the young lass approach.

“Yer the new stable lad?” He blurted out as surprised as he was amused.

Politely she took off her bucket hat and lowered it to her waist. It was a good way of hiding her twiddling fingers which she had the annoying habit of doing when she was nervous.

“I think I am,” she answered, wondering whether she should keep her hat down or put it back on, “Polly send me,” she added when the man in front of her laughed out loud. “Really, she did!” She pressed when Charlie’s laugh turned into choking coughs.

“Bet she did!” Charlie spat amused once he’d got his breath back. “Oh Tommy‘s going to love this!” With his right hand he gestured her to follow him. Muttering to himself he guided her through the yard to the far back.

The stables weren’t exactly as she’d pictured them, there weren’t even half as many boxes as her family had at their farm. But this wasn’t the time to be picky and so she quickly turned her disappointed gaze into a proper smile.

“Oy, Tommy!” Charlie spat, stomping out his cigarette on the ground. “I got ya your new stable lad. I bet Curly ain’t tipping this one.”

From the far side of the stable yard the outline of a slender build man appeared. Scrunching his sleeves up to his elbows, he laid down his pitchfork. Pushing his flat cap up rubbed his face. His icy light blue eyes sharply checked her out from head to toe and for a moment he seemed puzzled. Instead of focusing on her he turned his eyes to his uncle, shrugging his shoulders.

“Polly sends her regards. This is your new lad.. Or should I say lass?” Charlie added with a wink to her. “This is...wait a minute, what’s your name lass?”

Uncomfortable, she peeked from the older man back to the younger one and vice versa. “Maria, Maria Lehman.”

“Ah, Maria.” Charlie tapped her on the back, his humorous grin a contrast to hers. “This is Tommy Shelby.”

Two dark brows furrowed up from surprise. Then his jaw tightened and without giving Maria another look he shook his head. Rapidly he started to gesture with wild motions.

For her experienced eyes it was a piece of cake to understand what his signs mean: _Why let a girl do men's work_?!

Her hand clenched around her bucket hat as she huffed: “Because I will work twice as hard for half a paycheck, Mr Shelby.”

This took both men off guard. Tommy abruptly stopped gesturing and dropped his arms rapidly to his sides. Charlie whistled: “Polly works in mysterious ways, ya’ have ta give her that.”

Tommy’s jaws clenched and before anyone could say another word he raised his middle finger to his uncle, spun on his heels and marched back into the stables.

“Forgive my nephew's god awful manners, Miss Lehman, he ain’t been right in the head ever since he came back from France,” Charlie apologized matter-of-factly. “Well, I’ll be going back to my business. Good luck with ‘im.”

“I have to work with _him_!?” Maria stammered, so thankful her hands weren't in plain sight.

“Afraid so, he’s been in charge of the stables for the last few months. Don’t worry, he ain’t so bad. He’s always been fond of Curly, but since Curly fell ill, you’ll have ta do. Just don’t bother him too much and then you’ll get along fine!” Charlie added cheerful as he tapped her on the shoulder and headed off.

And so it became clear to Maria what the catch was in relation to her too-good-to-be -true new job.

Pulling on her hat, she straightened her back and walked into the stables. Although she didn’t think it was going to be a pleasant first day she doubted her new employer would harm her.

She knew that he knew she was there although his back was towards her, and he continued pitching hay to one side. His motions were shot through with aggravation, and although she was clueless as to what she’d done she knew it was because of her.

“Where should I start?” She asked, her fingers plucking at the embroidered waistband of her high waist skirt.

The pitchfork clang to the stone floor, his shoulders hitched and Tommy turned around staring at her intently. Casually he signed to her: _How do you know sign language_?

“My mum was born deaf. She was taught as a child and when I was old enough she taught me.” She answered, eying her new boss up and down. “But you’re not deaf, I can tell that.”

One eyebrow raised and he crossed his arms.

“You heard me come in here whilst you were facing the wall.” She explained. hiding the fact that she had quickly realized that his motions clearly hid frustration and unprocessed grief at the result of losing his voice.

A simple nod was her thanks. He pressed his fists together twice: _work_. Then his pointed at his pitchfork and then to a storage space in the back. She nodded briefly and quickly started her chores. The moment she turned around to get the tool she could feel his icy blue eyes burn into her back. This was going to be a long first day.

.-.-.

The entire morning he bossed her around, pointing out where to find the wheelbarrow, tools, saddles, dry food, and location of the well for fresh water. Other than when strictly necessary he hadn’t tried to communicate with her at all. If she asked a question, he would ignore her. Finally, when he’d ordered her to push the wheelbarrow full of horse manure to the dump, he went outside to smoke and didn’t return.

She didn’t mind his absence _at all._ For the first time that day she allowed herself to let her guard down and breath in the familiar smells that felt so much like home. Although she couldn’t recall taking care of horses with names like as Rockferry, Percy Piper, Monaghan boy, Bourbon.

After waiting for more then an hour she wondered whether Tommy would return at all. She relaxed a bit more and headed to feed the beasts. Nuzzling Bourdon’s nose she couldn’t help herself and snatched an apple from one of the barrels. She hadn’t brought lunch, frankly because there wasn’t any. Her Uncle’s household had expanded from four to eight after she, her mother and two younger sisters had moved in and money and food was tight. Very tight.

Given the circumstances it was very important for her to get a job rather than getting a good education. She didn’t mind thought. She’d never had the ambition of getting a high education. Honestly. she’d always dreamed of a modest sheltered town life. Filled with hard labour, structure and animals. She highly doubted such future still lay ahead.If only.

Sweeping the floors, she started to hum an old folk song she’d learned from her father during their evenings around the fireplace. As sweat started to form on her forehead she took off her hat and hung it on one of the nails sticking out from the girders. For a moment she paused in her labour and tried to untangle the ash blond strings of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. It had been a long time since she’d seen a decent hairdresser. Her aunt had offered to cut it for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to have a pair of kitchen scissors butcher her waist length locks. Her hair was her treasure. Ever since she was a young girl she’d played with it and braided it. Her hair was the one thing this city would not take away from her. Quickly she twisted it into a bun to keep it from falling in front of her eyes.

She tidied up a bit more, her gingham print cotton dress getting specks of sand and dirt on the hems. Humming she swept some rotting apples from under the barrels and then inspected her hands. Both were a warm shade of red from wrenching around the wooden handles of the various tools. Working class hands. She was used to it.

Better to pull an occasional splinter out then lose a finger in the factory she figured.

“My young man wears a frown, with his eyes all closed and his head bowed down”, she sang softly, watching the horses in their separate stalls, ”my young man never sleeps, the rain it falls upon his back.” Emptying a bag of hay into the feeding trough she hoped there would be more food on the table then just potatoes tonight. “The dust before his eyes is black, oft the times, oft the time my young man weeps-”

Tommy returned, startling her. With three nails pressed between his lips he marched passed her and got a hammer from the storage space. He didn’t acknowledge her until he was passed her half way and then he took two shillings out of his pocket and gave it to her.

 _Tomorrow at seven_ , he signed after handing her pay, _wear trousers_.

.-.-.

**A/N: It has been ten years since I posted anything on this site. I never thought I would pick up writing fanfiction again but Peaky Blinders captivated me. Well, Tommy did. And so I felt the urge to toy with him. War has always interested me, I don’t know why but it does. I wanted to create a story again but didn’t want a basic Tommy/OC coming to her rescue and save the day. Or an OC that would change Tommy and turn him into a hopeless lovesick puppy. So, what would be needed to prevent it from becoming plain and why would my OC be important enough to be around. Because let’s face it, around 1920 women didn’t have rights like we do now.**

**So... why not make Tommy a mute? Why not take away that his strongest weapon, his speech. It’s for me, the writer, an extra challenge, because how to have to get two characters to communicate when one of them can’t talk?**

**If you are looking for a Disney storyline and lots of romance, I think you’ll have to find that elsewhere. Because it won’t be pretty, I’ve done some research on war, PTSD, sign language and even took awhile to know bits and pieces about Birmingham around 1920. When it comes to stories I can get a little obsessed.**

**Also, English is my second language I have a mild form of dyslexia so bare with me**

**I’d like to address the song I’ve used in this story, it’s from Kate Rusby called ‘My young man’, it’s not mine, I only used it.**

**Xoxox Nuky**


	2. War present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- You are useless to me if you pass out.

 

 

.-.-.

 

Maria made sure to be at the stables at half past six precisely. If she couldn’t earn credit for working hard then she could at least be very punctual. Earlier that morning she’d snuck into her cousin’s room to borrow a pair of trousers. They weren’t her size and smelled like fire and smoke but by adding a belt and rolling up the legs up they fit.

  
Besides some crew working at the docks she was the only one in the yard and it gave her chills. Despite doing her best to ignore the interested glances of the men she was glad when Tommy showed up. He didn’t seem thrilled by her presence but gave her a little nod of the head and she took it as a _good morning_. It was a nice surprise after being stubbornly ignored the day before.

  
“Morning mister Shelby,” she said back, jumping off the barrel she’d been sitting on.

  
He walked passed her and motioned her to walk along with him. _Blacksmith_ , he signed and pointed at Rockferry and Bourdon. Then _Vet_ with a gesture at Monaghan boy. Picking up a saddle from the mounting block he pointed back towards Rockferry and Bourdon, _Saddle up both_ . He petted Bourdon’s head before making the gesture for a leash _, Bridle for all,_ and striding off.

  
“Yes, mister Shelby,” she replied to his departing back and took another saddle from the store. She wasn’t bothered by the fact that Tommy had left again. This was probably how their working relationship would be. He would give her orders and, as long as she did what was told and worked well, he would leave her be. And honestly, after getting those prying glances from the man at the docks she would gladly settled for that.

  
After she got the horses ready, Tommy came back and tied Monaghan boy to Bourdon. He placed his left foot into the stirrup, tucking the reins beneath his palm then sprang up into the saddle. He motioned for her to do the same.

  
Rockferry was a gentle horse, a thoroughbred stallion with a dark mane and a dark bay coat. Dutiful he complied when she nudged his side with the balls of her feet.

  
Their ride to the blacksmith’s was pleasant. The horses were happy to be out of the stables and sniffed eagerly at the early morning air.   

 

The smith was waiting outside his forge, clearly expecting them. With a cheerful “Good Morning Mister Shelby,” he took the two horses to the back of his business. The heat from fire was overwhelming, the iron already turning orange in the brick forge, ready to be used.

  
While the shoeing got done, Tommy gave the man his fee, took Monaghan boy by the bridle and motioned Maria to walk alongside him. Outside he pointed back at the blacksmith and tapped on the side of his head: _Remember this place._

  
“Yes sir,” she answered and wondered why the blacksmith had been was so eager to see them at such early hour of the day.

  
They walked on until they came to the veterinary surgery.  The vet, a friendly old fellow with thick glasses and a crooked back was also waiting outside, ready to take Monaghan boy to the medical stable in the back. The obedience of the citizens of Small Heath puzzled her.

 

The shoeing took a longer then the vet’s appointment, the farrier was clearly a perfectionist and was now a little before lunch. They both waited outside with Monaghan boy, leaning against the brick wall of the blacksmith.

 

Tommy took out a small silver flask from his long black coat and brought it to his lips.  Maria was prepared to bet her last two shillings that it wasn’t water but she didn’t feel the need to ask him. Instead she enjoyed the weak bit of sunshine in silence right up until her stomach started to ache and growl. She tried hunching forward a bit but it was unstoppable; it was quite clear that she was hungry. Her embarrassment grew when she became the focus of Tommy’s perceptive gaze:

 

 _Hungry?_ he signed.

  
“No, not really,” she replied, her obvious lie was revealed when her stomach growled again.

  
Tommy sighed, keeping his clear gaze on her as he took out a pack of cigarettes. Pressing one firmly between his lips, he held out the cardboard box to her.

  
“No, thank you,” she said politely. “I don’t smoke.”

 

There was another sigh from her right. Cautious she looked through her lashes in Tommy’s direction. He’d taken out his pocket watch and seemed bored. Then, apparently without conscious thought, he took off his flap cap to scratch the back of his head. His dark hair was cut in an odd style, shaved down on the sides and left a bit longer on top. A deep line of healed scar tissue ran from just above his ear all the way to the back of his scalp.

  
He was caught off guard when their eyes met and for a moment he had a boyish shyness to him. _War present_ , he signed before putting his cap back on.  Nodding sheepishly, she felt bad, as if she had intentionally uncovered his most closely guarded secret.

  
Tommy pushed himself off from the wall, reflexively she wanted to follow him but he made a stop sign with his hand: _Wait here._

  
He crossed the street and went into a back alley leaving her feeling a little skittish. Had she done something wrong?  Uncertain, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, hoping he would return soon. However, this was a part of the city she hadn’t seen before and the new sights keep her distracted.

 

Tommy returned a good ten minutes later with a paper bag. He pushed it into her hands and took out a small leather notebook and pencil.

  
She considered herself lucky, promoted from being communicated to via single words to full sentences.  But still she wished that someone had had the knowledge to teach Tommy the full depth of sign language – perhaps then he wouldn’t be so frustrated. While he scribbled down a note with one hand, he gestured at her to open the bag.

 

With doe-eyes she did what was told and looked inside - a loaf of bread and two apples.  He had brought her lunch.

  
_You’re useless to me if you pass out_ , the message in the notebook read.  It seemed harsh and matter-of-fact but if Maria had known to look she would have seen the corner of his lip quirked when he knew that she had read it.

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N Thank you for reading, please be so kind to leave a review. It’s been so long since I’ve put anything online and I’m a little shy about it. xoxo Nukyster**


	3. Almost due

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lemmy give ya a little advice if ya want ya keep your job, lass. Don’t ever mention France.”

 

.-.-.

 

 _Did you eat?_ Was the first thing her boss signed to her when she walked into the stable to start her chores.

 

A little taken aback she nodded, still a bit embarrassed of her growling stomach from the day before. After taking the food she’d tried to be civil but had wolfed down the bread and ate the entire apples – cores included.

 

One eyebrow went up and Tommy placed his hand onto his hip: _Really?_

 

 _“_ No sir, my mum said it was too early to go to the market”, she lied, ashamed to admit there wasn’t even a breadcrumb left in their cupboard.

 

Her boss snorted and motioned for to her to follow him.  In between two chimney stacks was a lean-to built from reclaimed bricks and stones. Inside was a small office where Charlie was reading the morning paper.

 

“Oy Tommy, lass!” the older man greeted them and held up a cup of tea.

 

Maria greeted him back but Tommy was straight to business: _Is your stew ready?_

 

 _“_ Almost. It would be better if the meat cooked a bit more but it’ll do.” Charlie added. “Why, you want some?”

 

 _Fuck no,_ Tommy signed, _for her._

 

“Manners, Tom,” Charlie grumbled annoyed as he walked outsider to a little bonfire. A kettle hung above the smoldering wood filled with gently simmering stew.

 

Maria took a bowl full out of the hands of Charlie and took place on one of the chairs around the fire.

 

Tommy took out his cigarettes while she wolfed down her meal.

“Might lose a finger lass, if ya eat any faster.” Charlie chuckled by the sight of the hungry girl. “Ya sure you don’t want any hedgehog stew Tom?” Charlie asked right before slapping Maria on the back when she began to choke on a chunk of…

 

“ _Hedgehog?!”_ She squeezed out between coughs, staring at her now half full bowl.

 

“An old gypsy recipe - been in our family for generations,” Charlie told her proudly.

 

For a moment she stared baffled at the chef, then over to Tommy who was suppressing a smirk and refusing to make eye contact, and then back at her breakfast.

 

“To be honest, it’s quite alright,” she had to admit, “Better than my aunt’s Shepherd’s Pie.”

 

“Quite alright, bloody gorgers…” Charlie mumbled under his breath.

 

“So you are a Gypsy then?” Maria asked interested as she continued to eat her stew.

 

“Ay proud Romanies we are!” Charlie roared a bit too tipsy for the early morning.

  
Tommy snorted and rolled his eyes: _show off_ , he signed at Maria.

  
“What ya say now Tommy?” Charlie asked with narrow eyes.

  
“Traveller,” Maria answered quickly, “he says your people are travellers.”

 

“Damn right there, Tom. Our ancestors travelled all over the globe!” Charlie bragged proudly and laughed, earning another moody glare of Tommy, “Speaking of which lass, what brings you and yer family to Small Heath?”

  
“Well,” Maria began shyly, not at all comfortable with being the centre of attention. “-my father and brother died in France and then our farm burned down. We didn’t have enough money to build up a new home and the only family that would take us in is my mum’s sister.” She told her story straightforwardly, trying to keep her feelings about the tragic events from showing in her voice.

  
Charlie’s good-humored eyes turned stern: “My condolences.”

  
“Thank you, sir.”

  
“What’s the name of your town?”

“Cranleigh, sir. It’s lovely there. We used to have a fair number of stables, a herd of sheep, three cows and a fat potbelly pig called Gilbert. He could do tricks too-”

 

Tommy scrunched his chair roughly backwards and got up. Without any explanation he threw his cigarette down and headed for the stables.

 

Unsure of what she had done or what she should do next she looked over at Charlie like a deer stuck in headlights.

 

“Lemmy give ya a little advice if ya want ya keep your job, lass. Don’t ever mention France.” the older man tipped his hat back. “It’ll do ya no good with Tom.”

 

“That’s where he lost his voice isn’t it?” She whispered.

 

Charlie stared at his nephew’s back and nodded: “Aye and lots ‘n lots more.”

 

Maria felt a shiver run down her back and stared at her bowl of stew. She remembered how many of the men of her town had came back, traumatized and multitated from the inside out.

 

“They dug him out of the ground”, Charlie revealed making the sign of a cross against his chest and forehead, “Took ‘em three days. He was a tunneler, you see? Bloody hero too, saved thousands of lives at Mons. Even received the Distinguished Conduct medal. Threw it in the cut, mad bugger.”

 

Silence fell and Maria lost her appetite: “Thanks for the stew sir. I must be heading to work.”

 

“Lovely seeing you again lass. Best luck spending time with Tom. And be a _smart_ lass, don’t let him know ya _know,_ ya know?”

  
Tommy was working in Monaghan Boy’s stall when she entered. He’d taken off his long black coat and was dressed in a white cotton shirt, faded grey trousers and his trademark flat cap. A hoof scraper was tucked into his belt.

  
“I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  
Tommy spun on his feet and in one quick motion drew a line over his lips: _zip it_. Then he urged her to come into the box with him. He stepped around Monaghan Boy, gently petting the horse: “Ssssh.” He calmly muttered to his animal and carefully placed his hand on her belly.

  
Maria almost felt like an intruder witnessing such compassionate moment. Sinking to her knees and staring at the bulging stomach she whispered: “She’s expecting.”

  
A short nod: _Almost due_.

  
“Monaghan _Boy?_ Strange name for a mare.”

 _Last owner was a twat_ , Tommy signed. He stepped aside and grabbed her hand before placing it on the mare’s belly. She could feel the foal shift under her touch and gasped excitedly.

  
“Oh so precious,” she sighed and rubbed the flank of the mother to be.

  
_Will be a boy_ , Tommy signed.

  
“How do you know?”

  
A short shrug, _I know_ , followed by an unexpected smirk, _Gypsy remember_?

  
She returned the smile happily, noting that he was making small-talk with her instead of ignoring her.

  
_Fresh water, she likes beets, give her some extra. More straw, it’s comfortable if she needs to lay down_ , Tommy wrote down her to-do list in his small notebook. She nodded vividly keeping half an eye on the small wonder. Nature was beautiful.

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N Oh Tommy and his gypsy magic...**

 


	4. Wrong side of heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It tore him up from the inside, every time he woke from the nightmares. Screaming, gasping and then...his silence fell once more. As a fucking imbecile, he wasn’t able to form words, only sounds. Like an animal.

**A/N I highly suggest you listen to the songs: Wrong side of heaven, by Five Finger Death Punch and Zombie, by the Cranberries while reading this chapter. This will be the first of many Tommy POV’s:**

 

 

.-.-.

 

She was a proper rider, he had to give her that. Although he’d rather eat his flat cap then pay her the compliment; her technique was good.  
  
  
Tommy stood in the middle of the ring, holding on to the lunge line as Bourdon trotted around the sandy area with Maria riding bare back. To see whether a horse had a shot at the races it was important to see his motions, everything needs to connect and have a flow, a rythme. It was easy to overlook certain things when a horse had a saddle on.

  
And partly he just wanted to see what she was made of, if she would last on a race horse. To make it a little more difficult he’d picked Bourdon, the stallion had a high withers and could be uncomfortable to ride bareback. Most men would refuse, concerned about their privates being chaffed. She had the advantage of being a woman.  
  
  
She held the reins loosely with one hand, the other tangled in Bourdon’s mane. She was balanced. Didn’t have her legs pushed forward, straight back, heels a little bit too high for his liking but other then that a good posture. And she enjoyed moving along the rhythm of the horse.  
  
  
He clapped his hands to get her attention and motioned: gallop.  
  
  
She nodded and took the reins in both hands, at the same time applying pressure with both her legs. Bourdon neighed and took adrift, lively speeding up. He had a good pace, Bourdon was a good acquisition to their stud.

After the seventh rounds he clapped his hands again and motioned: _trot_ . Never forget the cooling down, it’s important for the horse and the rider. He’d first handedly seen hasty horse owners crippling an accelent race horse.  
  
  
He clapped his hands three times: _stop_ .  
  
  
The girl gave a long nudge on the reins and swooped forward as the horse’s steps slowed down. Steadying herself back in a straight position she navigated Bourdon to the wooden fence securing the ring.  
  
  
Clumsy she dismounted the horse but landed on both feet, cheeks flushed from the ride.  
  
  
Tommy rolled up the lunge line and handed Maria three shillings: _Tomorrow, see you at seven_ . _Six thirty if you need to eat first_ .  
  
  
Hasty she tucked the money safely in her oversized trousers. Shyly she plucked on the hem of her sleeve: “I’ll be here at six thirty then.” She answered humbled and handed the reins over to him. “Good evening mister Shelby.”  
  
With a nod he dismissed the girl and gently stroke the stallion’s neck, his pelt damp from the action.  
  
  
He was alone at the yard and he felt at eased. He liked being alone in the stables with the horses. The calm animals had a soothing influence on him, always had. As a young boy his mother would leave him in the stables whenever he had a tantrum. He couldn’t be mad around horses, it felt wrong.  
  
  
He took Bourdon back to his box and started to rub his fur coat dry with straw. He wondered when Curly would be back on his feet. The poor man had fallen between the dock and one of their river boats and fractured his kneecap. Tommy missed the bold broad fellow, he talked a lot but babbled on instead of speaking directly to him.  
  
  
He’d developed a habit of avoiding questions and conversations in general. It was teeth clenching painful if the person you were trying to communicate with was clueless about what you were saying. His family only knew the very basics of sign language and half of the city seemed fucking illiterate. He had a suspicion that some of the bastards deliberately claimed that they couldn’t read just to mock him. And he allowed it, simply because he couldn’t tell them otherwise.

 

His family hoped that he would become his old self again, but he was still only a fraction of the old Tommy Shelby. Half lay shattered in France and had been left there to rot, some had bled out in the hospital bed. All but a shard remained after he found out he lost his voice. He wasn't Tommy Shelby anymore, he knew it and everyone around him knew it. The guilt was killing him, but the pity and hopeless gazes of his family killed him more.

 

If it wasn’t for them he would have eaten a bullet. He’d never been a man to give up, to take the cowards way out. But there was only so much a man could take and he’d long since crossed that boundary.

 

The nightmares tormented him, suffocating him during his sleep and haunting him when he was awake. From time to time his heart would jolt, his vision would blur, and he would find himself back in France, simply because a loud noise would startle him. Could be a car horn, the hammer of the working men, a child clapping his hands. In matter of seconds he would find himself back in the tunnels, covered in mud, piss and blood. Screaming his guts out because the walls where giving in. And he would be trapped in the overpowering darkness, unable to shout, breath or see.

 

He’d find himself awake at night, pissing his damn bed, blankets tangled all around him, choking and trying to ask for help. Only to realise once again that he couldn’t fucking _speak_.

 

It tore him up from the inside, every time he woke from the nightmares. Screaming, gasping and then...his silence fell once more. As a fucking imbecile, he wasn’t able to form words, only sounds. Like an animal.

 

All that remained of him were the memories of his old self and this new version could not compete, not come even close to the person he used to be.

 

“I see you’ve met your new employee.” Aunt Poll said, a little too thrilled for his liking. She had always had the nerve-wracking habit of creeping up at people.

 

He didn’t react to her statement and continued to brush Bourdon.

 

Polly walked around the stable box and leaned over the wooden frame. “Is she doing her job well?”

 

He sighted annoyed, knowing his aunt would press the matter until he gave her the thumbs up: _She’ll do._

 

The face of the older lady lit up, lips curling into a satisfied smile. He hated this; being treated as a child.

 

“When are you coming home, Thomas?” Her smile remained but her eyes lost their shimmer, making way for sorrow.

 

He hated this even more, disappointing his family, letting them down. But if he stayed away their life would be easier. They wouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night because of his terrors. He _hated_ seeing the frightened face of his young sister Ada when she woke him up during a nightmare. One time he’d swung at her reflexively, still under the impression that he was trapped under the French soil. She’d had to stay indoors for a week until her black eye had faded enough. After that only Arthur and John would come in his room if his dreams took the best of him.

 

No-one would mention it during their breakfast, but he heard them whispered to each other about it when he wasn’t in sight. Hell, he knew the entire population of Small Heath was gossiping about him. He was Small Heath’s ‘talk of the town’.

 

“Finn misses you,” Poll continued carefully.

 

His jaws clenched and he had to take a few deep breaths. He missed his little brother more than anything. Finn had been the only one who was always happy to see him. His lack of maturity made it so much easier. Finn was content with a ruffle through his hair, a smile, a little frolicking about outside; he simply accepted that his brother could no longer speak. When their eldest brother Arthur had taken Finn aside to tell him he’d been puzzled for a moment, then nodded and gone off to play. If only it had been so simple for the rest of them.

 

“We _all_ miss you Thomas,” Poll confessed quietly.

 

He unleashed the bridle and walked it into the back closet. His heart ached and he longed to go back to Watery Lane - where there was always a kettle on the stove, the coal fireplace always glowed, and, past the curtains, an illegal betting shop was always buzzing with activity. And most important, it held his family.

 

“Come home Tommy,” his aunt had walked after him, placing her hand on the crook of his neck. It was a gesture that took him back to his childhood years when life had been hard with not a lot of food on the table but filled with childish hope.

 

But now, hope was all gone, hope was as a flame drawing in the moth. Hope was what had been killing him. For months in the hospital he’d kept his hopes up, doctors promising him it was temporary. If his head wound healed enough his speech would slowly return. He’d spent many hours with a speech therapist, sounding like a mongoloid, trying to make his brain identify words, to vocalize his thoughts.

 

All for _nothing_. His hope and his voice were both  gone, buried in the trenches of Mons.

 

 _Soon,_ he signed, _I’ll be home soon_.

 

Her hand left his neck and he could feel her whole bearing change without looking at her. He knew he failed her again, though she tried not to let it show.

 

“All right Tom,” she sighed, dejected, “I’ll come back to see you in a bit. Then you’ll come home?”

 

He nodded, fully aware it was a lie, and in her gaze he saw that she knew it too.

 

“Take care.” She hugged him goodbye and he pulled one hand around her shoulders, detached from the loving gesture. If he gave in there was no saying of what would happen, there was so much grief, anger and sorrow built up in his body nothing would remain if it all came out.

 

So he hid it all, _everything_ , including himself. He’d made a bedroom in the attic of the stable, in the corner by the window. He’d taken some of his belonging from Watery Lane and for the last few months he’d shut himself off from the rest of the world. Taking care of the horses during the day, drinking himself into a mild coma during the night, occasionally smoking opium if he could get Charlie to bribe Arthur.

 

That was his life now and he had no other plans for the future.  He was silently waiting for the moment when he wouldn’t wake up in the morning.  

 

.-.-.

 

**And that was the first Tommy part, I loved writing this, taking away all hope and give nothing back in return. I’ve read articles about the first world war because I didn’t know many facts, I’m from Holland and therefore brought up with everything about the second world war. The first seems more ‘forgotten’ and many soldiers suffered from Shell Shock. It saddens me that the number of soldiers with severe PTSD are still not acknowledged.**

 

**Please be so kind to leave a review, I’m very excited about how this chapter worked out and really want to know what you, the reader, thinks!**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	5. Precious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Precious. I like Precious."

 

.-.-.

Charlie babbled on for half an hour about his great grandfather who'd lived an original gypsy lifestyle and his great grandmother being a fortune teller.  _She could read your hand lass, your hand and tell ya your day of yer death_ , he'd ranted proudly providing her with slow roasted rabbit he'd skinned himself.

During the morning the men at the docks kept a close eye on her everytime she walked to the well for a bucket of water. Tommy wasn't around much, when he came back in the afternoon he signed to her to take one of the new horses to the blacksmith.

He handed her the money for the smith and informed her firm to check Johnny Jumper's new shoes before heading back.  _I don't want the bastard slacking because I sent you alone_ , he wrote down, friendly as ever.

Luckily the blacksmith delivered fine work and didn't ask questions.

When she returned with Johnny Jumper, Tommy raced into the stable with a bucket of hot water. He shoved the handle in her hands and urged the new horse to get into his box.

 _Labour started an hour ago_ , he signed while pushing her forward to Monaghan Boy's box. The mare lay nervous and restless in the corner and scrunched her hooves when noticing her caretakers.

 _Wait_ , Tommy ordered and slowly opened up her box. The mare swished her tail and huffed loudly, trying to stand up.

"Sssh," Tommy took her head and both of his hands and stroke her nose. The horse paused from the touched, hesitated and slowly got on her feet. "Sssh," Tommy motioned Maria to come closer and pointed where to put the bucket down. He pulled a cloth from between the back of his jeans and drenched it in the hot water.

Maria had witnessed a fair share of deliveries and started to remove the feeding tubs and other possible obstacles. Meanwhile, Tommy cleaned the mare's udder, belly, rear, and upper legs, any place the foal would be nuzzling when trying to find the udder.

 _You can go home_ , Tommy signed when they were done and dug his hand into his pocket for her fee.

"I can stay, I can help," Maria responded, unable to keep her excitement from showing.

Tommy paused and turned his head towards the mare that kept nosing at her flank. He took out his notebook and wrote down:  _It will take a while before giving birth, it's her first._

"I don't mind, I don't have anything else to do-" or feel like going home, she thought, "my brother studied to be a veterinarian and I read all his books. And we had horse-"

Tommy raised his hand to cut her off, ruffled through the pages and pointed at a cirkled,  _ok_ in his notebook and motioned her to get a bale of hay.

Almost two and a half hours passed and she'd steadied herself on the fence dividing the boxes. Biting on a string of hay she watched the mare while Tommy went out for a smoke. The mare had become more anxious, her body tense from premature contractions.

"I can see the sac," she told Tommy when he returned. Monaghan Boy rolled to her side and amber-coloured liquid streamed over the straw flooring. "She's going to be a mum in half an hour."

Both caretakers watched the mare get back on her feet and take a few steps in her box.  
  
Tommy sternly watched his animal and dragged out his notebook:  _Get the vet. It will be a breech birth_.

She felt herself pale a fews shades knowing the dangers for the foal and for the mother."What if the vet refuses?"

A note saying got shoved in her face saying:  _He better fucking come, tell him Tommy Shelby sent you_. And he agitatedly motioned for her to get going.

Luckily the veterinarian was still present at his practise and was more than willingly to hurry up when she mentioned the name of her employer. Carrying a leather briefcase on their shoulders, they sped back to Charlie's yard.

Tommy had set up two oil lamps to provide the box with enough light and both his hands were bloodied up to his wrists. Maria couldn't recall seeing him in such panic.

 _I can't get the foal turned,_ he signed looking dejected as the mother-to-be let out a high pained neigh.

"How long since the sac burst?" The vet asked.

"At least twenty minutes ago," Maria informed knowing how lethal dystocia could be.

"Then we better hurry up." The vet took the bag from her. "Get some secure ropes lass! Mister Shelby if you may assist!"

Tommy took an enormous swig out of a whiskey bottle and made a military salute, entering the box again.

Meanwhile Maria ran to the back closet with an oil lamp in one hand. Every minute counted and she'd seen enough death around her lately. She shoved away wooden boxes, empty bottles, and tools until she found a roll of hennep rope on the lower shelves.

"I got the ropes, I got them" She exclaimed almost throwing herself over the wooden fence.

"Hold up the tail," the vet ordered her, "If the mother pushes any harder, she can kill the foal."

Monaghan Boy's hooves scraped loudly over the floor in utter distress, the pain was too much and she was unsure of the people around her. The vet tied the rope around the hind legs while Tommy tried to reassure his horse of their best interest; deliver the baby safely.

"Hold up the tail and help me pull Mr Shelby!"

The two men pulled with all their weight to get the foal out of the womb. The nose became visible after their second tuck, once the shoulders came out the rest followed.

With a little thump the lifeless body of the foal fell on the floor followed by the placenta. It was dead silent in the stable, the baby the centre of everyone's attention.

Slow but steadily the mother turned around and sniffed her first born.

'Oh please don't be dead, please don't be dead,'Maria praid unable to breath.

The mother took another step closer and licked the head of her foal. And there it was, a tiny stir with his tiny black sighed in relief and noticed the other two men did the same.

"It's a boy" he vet said after checking, clearing up mucus from his and Tommy exchanged gazes, her surprised, his very full of himself.

The foal took his first few breathes and opened his dark down eyes, he sneezed and the mother lay down next to him. Tommy shook bloody hands with the vet and paid him his fee and some extra for all the trouble.

Sitting down indian styled, Maria watched over the newborn and his mum, there was truly something magical about the event, a humble wonder that the baby survived. Tommy joined her on the floor, bringing his knees up and a bottle of whiskey in his hand. In the glowing orange light of the oil lamps they witnessed the first shaky steps of a new life.

Tommy pulled the bucket of water close and washed off the blood from his hands and wrists. He pointed at her face and handed her a damp cloth, it turned pink once she was done rubbing her nose and cheeks.

"No thank you, I don't drink," She excused herself when he held out the bottle. Tommy shrugged and pushed the bottle back at his lips. Swallowing the burning liquid he rested the back of his head against the fence and closed his eyes smiling relieved.

For the first time since they met she dared herself to be at ease around him. Comfortable she picked on a few hay strings.

 _What should we name him then_? Tommy signed, his hands floppy from the amount of alcohol in his system and adrenaline wearing off.

"I don't know."

He clicked his tongue scoffing,  _Be a little creative._

She took a moment to think, placing her chin on her elbow: "Precious. I like Precious."

 _Then P-R-E-C-I-O-U-S it is!_ He finger spelled sluggish.

She giggled and bit her lower lip. "Thank you Mr Shelby."

He raised his hand,  _Call me T-O-M-M-Y_ , he finger spelled, this time skillful,  _I ain't that fucking old_.

 _Alright T-O-M-M-Y_ , she spelled back and then made a few very quick motions.

Tommy's eyes scanned her motions and then her expression, he pulled his notebook close.  _Did you just ask me how fucking old I am?_

She nodded innocently and replayed the  _fucking_ sign exaggeratedly.

 _Twenty-five_ , he signed.

"You should wiggle your middle finger more, else it's thirty-five." She informed him,  _I'm seventeen._

Tommy frowned, narrowing his eyes as he stared at her hands, putting his pen down on paper, _Seventeen?_

"Indeed, Mr Shel- Tommy." She corrected herself. He raised his thumb up and tabbed the side of his head,  _Noted_. He rumbled in his pocket and took out two extra shillings.  _For the extra work and for fucking up your clothes_ , he wrote down his gaze on her blood stained trousers and shirt,  _go home 'Maria',_ he drew a tiny cross,  _it's passed your bedtime_ , and smirked.

.-.-.

**A/N: For this chapter I used a lot of wikipedia, I'm not very fond of horses, I'm more of a cat person. Therefore, I had no idea how the birth would be. I also did a little research on sign language and fingerspelling. I like how Tommy and Maria are working out, they are actually 'talking' to each other in this chapter:P**

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	6. Home sweet home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't be gullible Maria, remember at the end of the day it's not his reputation that will be ruined.

 

.-.-.

Polly Gray cursed herself for wearing her new heels that morning. Her high one strap heels stood layer deep in grime, she did not miss the poor working class streets she grew up in. Not at all. Wearing a black cocoon fur coat she cursed herself again for not bringing her cigarettes.

She did not recall the lass' full address but by the poverty surrounding her she knew she had to be close.

Her lips curled into a tight smile and she thanked her luck when she spotted her young employee getting out of one of the houses. Tilting her felt hat up she walked directly to the girl and making her halt.

"Do you have a moment?" It was a matter of formality, not a question, they both knew that. She motioned the girl to walk alongside her and lead her into a small tavern that was open, which she had arranged. There were a few very important matters to press today. She notioned the owner after they walked in and the man turned the door sign back to  _closed_.

"Sit down child," Polly spoke and poured two cups of tea already set at their table. Her table mate kept quiet, intimidated by her boldness.

"Why do you think I offered you the job?" She asked matter-of-factly.

"To take care of the horses?" The girl spoke carefully.

"Wrong, think again." She ordered shoving a cup across the table.

The girl was silent for a moment, biting her lower lip and plucking nervously on the hem of her shirt. "Because I know sign language?" she finally settled, a little dejected as she came to her conclusion.

"Aye, that's the right answer," Polly said, harshly. "How do you like your job so far?"

"I love it ma'am." The girl spoke honest, finally ready to bring herself to look up. "It's the only thing that keeps my hopes up."

She didn't think the girl would be so honest. "Hopes up for what?"

"That I won't go mad from this city, I come from a small town, I don't belong here." She drew her gaze back down and stared at her tea. "I should not be here, ma'am."

The plain sight of hopelessness struck Polly's heart, but this wasn't an unfamiliar story and honestly, the girl was better off than most. At least she had a roof over her head and didn't need to sell her body.

"But you are here now, and you're working for the Shelby family, dear," Polly informed her bluntly, "and if you'd like to keep your job, you need to be doing some certain things for me."

Her table mates brows frowned but she kept quiet.

"My nephew is not well." It hurt her to say it out loud, but she managed to keep her voice under control and pragmatic. "For our family business he needs to be well. I need him to be better."

And she did, for reasons more than strictly business. Their family was falling apart, Arthur was doing the best he could, but Arthur was the muscles not the mind, not fit to do the thinking or the talking for that matter. And Arthur did not want to listen to a woman, afraid to be overruled.

To function he needed to feel superior. Which lead to many fights and dangerous mistakes. Flaws that wouldn't have happened if Tommy was more around, or around at all. John wasn't much better, he'd became a man during their three years of fighting, but was still a teen when it came to business.

Polly had successfully kept their name high and mighty during their absence and would rather eat her felt hat then see it being demolished by her own flesh and blood. By their stupidity and arrogance.

"And how can I help," the girl spoke carefully, breaking Polly's thoughts, "I'm not a doctor."

"Aye, but you could be an influence," Polly told her. Tommy would always confide in her, not with many words, but he would let her in occasionally. That changed after the war, she remembered so vividly how he came home with his brothers after months in the hospital. He couldn't bear to look at her because she could not hide her enormous grief.

She would never hear his deep husky voice again, he would never provoke or comfort her the way he used to. He would never shout at his sister to keep her babbling mouth or sing lullabies when he'd take Finn to bed.

"I want you to keep an eye on him and report to me if he does something stupid. I will give you three shillings extra every week if you drop by Watery lane," she told the girl firmly.

She picked her words carefully because she didn't want to give the girl too much information about her nephew, or make her think he was pathetic. Because he wasn't, he was just so lost. She once caught him at their fireplace in the middle of the night, he sat there staring at the flames. He'd taken all the bullets from his gun and tossed them at his feet. Absentmindedly his hands played with the gun, then firmly placing it against his temple.

_Click_

She couldn't bring herself to find out he'd done something so irreversal stupid and she would be too late. She would never forgive herself if she didn't  _try_  to get him out of his silence literally and figuratively.

"He needs to get well again," she said, more to herself then to her companion. "Try to get him out of the stables for a bit, he needs to… get out more."

"And how am  _I_  supposed to do that?" It wasn't an accusation, but a honest question. A very good question which Polly didn't know the answer to.

That day when she first lay her eyes on the girl was only because she saw her sign to her mother in a casual way. She was fluent with the motions and the rapid finger spelling. And that's where she failed, Tommy's new language was their barrier. Tommy hated it when she didn't understand what he was trying to tell her and didn't bother to try after a while. If he needed to inform his family with something he would write it down or point. But a literal form of communications lacks emotions and he'd already grown so cold and distant.

"You are a clever girl, I can see that. You will figure something out." She took her wallet from her purse and handed the girl two pounds. "For your troubles and don't mention our little meeting to anyone." If Tommy found out about their little deal he would never trust her again. "Now drink up your tea, dear, else you will be late for work."

.-.-.

The house of her aunt Mirjam and uncle Walter in Adeler Street was never quiet, or ever close to it. The industrial small house was a 'two up two down'- just two main rooms on the ground floor and two bedrooms above separated by the staircase. Maria, her mother, and two sister where cramped up unto the small attic. Besides the two self-made bunk beds, there was just enough space for one closet, nothing more. Her two cousins had to share rooms now and were still furious about it, picking on the three girls the best they could.

Even at night there was noise, coming from the pipes and there were mice. She didn't see them, but she could hear them squeak and run over the wooden floor.

There was horrible plumbing, ice cold water would come from the faucet in the kitchen. The toilet was in the small outhouse in the back of their yard. There was no bath or shower. Twice a week her mum and aunt would fill a wooden tub in the kitchen with hot water and everyone got ten minutes. The women first, then the men. After her uncle used the tub the water was pitch black.

"Five more minutes, Marie!" Her aunt shouted from behind the kitchen door. "Hurry up, your sisters are already undressed!"

Furiously she tried to scrub dirt from under her fingernails and she hadn't even wringed her hair yet. She could hear the twins April and May whine about being cold and her hoarding all the hot water.

Frustrated she grabbed the wooden edge of the tube and pushed herself down into the water.

For thirty seconds it was quiet, the high pitch voices just a slight buzz. It was cruel of her to think but sometimes she envied her mother's deafness.

She thought back of her encounter with Miss Polly and felt slightly ill about keeping it from Tommy. She was a good Catholic girl and was not fond of lying or keeping secrets. It was wrong, but she didn't dare to defy Polly's orders. Any other option would lead to her getting fired. And she needed this job, she would go mad if she'd be locked into a factory for ten to twelve hours a day. So in order of keeping her work she would take the role of a spy.

" _MARIA_!" Her sisters screamed on the top of their lungs.

"Fine, fine!" She shouted back at her sisters who forcefully pushed the knob up and down "I'm coming out, shut it for a minute will you!"

With drenched unwashed hair she got out of the tub and shivered, the windows of their house where paperthin. Collecting her clothes and folding them up in a ball she covered her body with a towel and threw the door open.

"We are cold,  _cold_!" April screeched, huddling herself in her towel. Her twin sister nudged her aside and speeded in.

"Then you should have waited to undress, I have ten minutes!" She shot back annoyed.

"We do too and we have to share!" April replied and stuck out her tongue.

'But you don't need to work at the stables', she thought angrily but didn't respond and marched through the hallway, the faster she could get dressed the better.

"What are you looking at?" She spat at her prepubescent cousins who peeked at her with the same beady eyes as the men at the docs. Both boys laughed and ran up the stairs. "We saw your tits!"

"CARL, STEVEN!" Her aunt shouted from the living room, "DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE!"

"Don't worry ya ain't got any to look at!" her oldest cousin Carl told her viciously when she crossed him on the first floor staircase. "And I know you stole my jeans, what did you do with 'em?"

Ignoring Carl she ran up the stairs two steps at the time. He ran after her but she was faster, throwing the door into his face. Alone at last.

Shivering she threw the bundle of clothes down, they smelled bad and where bloodstained. If her cousin wasn't a first class git she would have bought him a new pair.

She'd done something sinful just now, only gave her uncle one pound and kept the other deeply buried in her pocket. Her family had taken them in, but not for free, they'd made that very clear on her first day. Her uncle and aunt would provide a roof over their heads, but every penny would have to come their way. Their christian duty had a price, her paycheck.

But her uncle was impressed by half of her fee and honestly two pound was a ridiculous amount of money for any girl of her class to earn without selling herself, although she felt as if she'd sold her soul for telling a lie.

With her towel she cleaned the tained mirror of their shared closet. Arms crossed she observed herself. Her breasts were small and not as developed as most of her peers. Not so strange as there was barely any food on the table. She pressed them firmly up together but still wasn't satisfied with the result. She lacked a feminine figure, skinny legs and no hips. She pinched her buttocks disapprovingly, she needed to gain weight, maybe she would use her private money to buy some sweets and cake tomorrow.

Her mother came in after she pulled her nightgown over her head.

_How was work?_  Her mother signed tiredly, her freckled face paler than usual. Her normally triangular face now asymmetrical from a thick left jaw. She had a terrible toothache since last weekend, and it seemed to be getting worse every day. Eating was a torment and she had been living on soup for three days.

"Good, how is your tooth?" she asked facing her mom. She could read lips with ease, quit an advantage sometimes. Her mother always knew all the gossip from their small town.

Her thumbs turned down and her mom sighed. Her face was worn, with bags under her eyes and her hair had lost it's healthy glow. Maria couldn't recall her mother smiling after they buried her son and two months later her husband. It broke her, she hadn't had a chance to truly say goodbye because an open casket had been out of the question.

The light flickered and it was dark. Maria sighed as she glanced around the room. Another power cut. Quickly she reached over to take her mother's hand and sat beside her on the lowest bunk bed. No sound and sight was frightening, her mom always kept a light on at night.

The moonlight shining through their tiny bedroom window provided enough light to see the contours of each others faces.

Maria bit her lip and waved her sweets and cake goodbye. She took her pound out of her skirt and pushed it in between her mother's fingers. Her mom gasped and clutcher Maria's hands tight.

After a few minutes the light flashed back on.

_How did you get this?!_ Her mother signed shocked.

"I earned it today," Maria told her, "use it to go see a dentist tomorrow, just don't tell Uncle Walter and Aunt Mirjam."

Her mother stared at her intently,  _What did you do to earn this?_

Maria gasped of the underlying accusation. "I'm just working very hard! Honest," she added when her mother frowned deeply.

"I'm not lying mum, my employer is just very content with my work."

_Don't be gullible Maria, remember at the end of the day it's not his reputation that will be ruined._

Angry, Maria shuffled herself away from her mother's side and crossed her arms. "We are not having this conversation, be glad I found a job this fast! I'm not doing anything wicked. Don't worry about me."

_I'm your mother, I'm always worried about you._

"I know, but I am no longer a child. Not after Daniel and dad," she whispered sorrowfully. "I will do what I can to make ends meet and keep the four of us together. Just go see a dentist tomorrow, it'll be alright."

She kissed her mother goodnight, and crawled up the top bunk, letting her tears run wild.

.-.-.

**A/N first I didn't intend to do a Polly POV, wanted to keep it strictly between Tommy and Maria. But I think aunt Poll is the best female character from Peaky Blinders and her POV is a great way to reveal some more about Tommy's tragedies.**

**This is the last chapter that I wrote so far and this week I have to work seven days, so the next update will take some time.**

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	7. The Garrison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was exactly the reason he tried to avoid any family meetings. Because of the fucking ticked in the head, mute, elephant in the room no-one wanted to address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Long chapter ahead, I've listened to 'Natural' from Imagine Dragons while writing this chapter. I think the song suits Tommy a lot, anyway enjoy!

  


 

.-.-.

"So what do people do for fun around here?" Her question startled him, lost in thoughts he'd been chopping wood behind the stables. Hard labour made him sleep better at night. Well, it was opium that worked miracles but muscle ache and exhaustion made a good second and third.

He turned around, frowning with an axe in his hands cocking his head up.

"For fun," she repeated with an empty bucket in her hands, "you know, after work. For fun, at the weekends."

 _There ain't anything fun in Small Heath_ , he signed after chopping the axe deep into a thick log. He'd done enough simple minded chores for today, it would be a godsend if Curly recovered soon.

A little taken aback she continued, "Then what do you do during the weekends?"

Survive. What he did any other day, trying to get through it. Getting piss drunk in the evening, then on lonely nights visit the Chinese brothel. Most of them didn't know a word of English to begin with so the whole encounter felt less awkward. And then during the days walk off the hangover, eat something from time to time, although he tended to forget the basic human need if the Whiskey was running through his veins.

 _I used to go out_ , he shared with her. Oh, he remembered the countless nights he'd spend with his brothers being stupid bastards. Drinking until the early morning, an occasional barfight mostly evoked by Arthur, for the rush. Laughing every time his youngest brother John got sick. The good old days.

Before the war.

"Where did you go?" Her questions continued.

It annoyed him, little miss Goldilocks was digging into old wounds with her prying innocent eyes.

 _Pubs, I used to go to pubs,_ he signed back agitated.

"Which one?"

 _Is this the Spanish inquisition?_ He signed, placing his weight on one foot and crossing his arms.

"No. I'm sorry, it's just… I'm from a small town, there was a lot to do on the weekends. We had fishing competitions, church meetings, sometimes I went with my mum to another town to get groceries," she babbled on then noticed his bored expression and cut to the chase. "I don't want to sit inside the entire weekend. I can't stand being home."

'Well that makes two of us,' Tommy thought and softened a little. In a way she was just as cut off from the world as he was, stranded in this damned city.

 _The Garrison_ , he motioned.  _I used to go to The Garrison most of the time. Get piss drunk on cheap Whiskey_.

"Why don't you go anymore?"

He failed to reply, how was he going to explain to anyone what he was going through every damn day. He couldn't bring himself to start up a conversation with his brothers that  _had been there_.

Luckily for him and herself she did not press the matter and quietly continued the chores he'd ordered her to do. That was her good quality, she grew up on a farm so he didn't have to explain every damn thing in detail. If he motioned to a pitchfork she knew to clean the boxes. He didn't have to tell her to refresh the water, or how to scrape the hooves.

He hated to admit it but he was glad his aunt picked this girl.

Because this one didn't know the Tommy from before. All the other lasses knew, the beauties, the rich, the whores, every damn one of them knew The Tommy Shelby. It was like competing with your worst enemy, a better version of yourself.

Every damn day he watched himself in the mirror, putting his hat back on to cover up the scars. Every damn day was a reminder of what he'd become and everyone else a firm reminder of what he  _wasn't_  anymore. She only knew Tommy the stable boy and she seemed alright with that. She didn't have expectations and that made her presence so much easier to bear.

The entire morning and afternoon he was tossing and turning with his thoughts. She must have noticed him brooding and luckily tried to stay out of his way.

Eventually curiosity got the best of him and really, what did he have to lose?

 _Come with me to the Garrison,_ he signed deliberately not putting it into a questioning context.

She blinked her blue doo-eyes a few times, unsure if she heard him correctly.

_It's friday, it's not raining, let's get a drink._

" I don't drink really," she reminded him muttering.

 _There is tea,_ God he couldn't believe he was doing this but there was no way back now that he let it out in the open.

"I need to be home before ten, else I will get into trouble," she told him, which he took as a yes to his first demand.

Great, so now he was going to a pub with a curfew. For the last fifteen years of his life he'd never bothered to head home early. Never cared for his mother's tears, his father's fists, or aunt Pol's loud curses.

But this evening he could act like a normal guy, taking out a normal girl to a pub, and that was the best thing that had happened to him in months.

.-.-.

The Garrison pub was an ornate cathedral build to combat the gloom of poverty, located on the far end of Garrison Lane. It was an old saloon, with class, leather booths and wooden bar stools that occasionally shattered a window or two. Harry Fenton, the owner and barman of the pub saluted him at the door.

"Good seeing you back, Tommy," the barman flat out lied, heading directly to the tabs to pour him a Scottish whiskey. Tommy honestly couldn't stand a Scot's any longer but took the drink anyway, it was easier than signing for another drink.

It was still quiet at the early bar hour of seven o'clock. Only a few old men sat at the back in one of the booths playing cards. It visually relieved Maria, the lack of people. And although he didn't like to admit it, he felt relieved too.

For about a good ten seconds.

Arthur, the eldest of the Shelby siblings and toughest member of the peaky Blinders bursted through the ebony doors.

"Brother!" Arthur exclaimed, his face a pallet of mixed emotions; smudges of sorrow, melancholy and torn between dejection and hope.

Tommy got wrapped by two strong arms and lifted from the floor. His older brother had always been the emotional one, unable to suppress his feelings. Anger, sadness, it always fueled out. That made Arthur a good right hand and a damn bad lair.

Behind him their younger brother marched in joined with a little gang of Blinder's.

"Good seeing ya here, Tom," John greeted a little uneased, "we heard people say they saw you heading to the Garrison, didn't believe it at first."

Johnny Dogs eyed him up and then looked at Maria.

"Now who have we here now?" The gypsy questioned interested, flickering his eyes up and down her body. As a pack of wolves the group of five men circled around her.

Tommy started to regret his bold decision and motioned to the girl to introduce herself.

"I'm Maria Lehman," she said with a tiny voice, intimidated by the new intruders.

To prevent a very unmannered event, Tommy took out his notebook and scribbled down:  _She's with me, back off._  He held it up and turned towards her for a moment,  _Go to the barman, order a drink, wait there._

As he had expected he got a familiar stare from Arthur, wiggling his brows. Arthur had more brawn than brains and could be an enormous twat from time to time.

Drinks arrived by a rather nervous Harry, there were a lot of Blinder's in his bar and tension rose noticeable. Poor lad just paid off his last windows.

"So ya taking girls out again hah?" Arthur joked and laughed loudly, "doin' better Tom?" He added softer, more concerned.

And this was exactly the reason he tried to avoid any family meetings. Because of the fucking ticked in the head,  _mute_ , elephant in the room no-one wanted to address.

Luckily his younger brother John could be less theatrical and cut to the chase. "Now you're here, we need to talk business. We have problems with the Lee's."

This surprised Tommy, last time they had settled the damage with the Lee's by giving them a fair share of money from their fixed boxing games.

John noticed Tommy's surprise and glared at Arthur who seemed extremely occupied with staring at the tips of his shoes "That fucking bloke called Zilpha Lee a cunt, to her face!"

'Fuck…!' Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose and felt the sudden urge to headbutt his brother.

In his defence Arthur apologetically added, "She did call me a stubborn twat."

 _That's because you ARE a fucking stubborn twat, with a tiny dick when it comes to insults!_ He gestured angrily to his brother ready to hit him in the face.

In the back, at the bar sounded a soft giggle. Maria had turned around and watched the spectacle of Shelby fury being unleashed. When she noticed his agitated glare she quickly drew her face down at her cup of tea.

"What?"Arthur snapped confused but aware he was being mocked. "What did he just say to me?"

Shyly she blushed all up to her ears and politely answered, "Tommy mentioned you have a rather small penis when it comes to dealing with a woman's grudge."

That being said the entire Blinder's crowd bursted into laughter, all but Arthur who's mood dropped far below zero.

.-.-.

They'd settled in the backroom of the Garrison, Tommy, John, sourmooded Arthur, Johnny Dogs, and a few other men Tommy didn't recall hiring. He'd kept Maria at the bar with another cup of tea, informing her it wouldn't take long and that he'd walk her home before her curfew.

So far everything John told him was not good. The Lee's spread through Small Heath as a group of sloggers, throwing stones and bricks through Blinder's related businesses and stores. The Lee's weren't strongly armed and tended to keep on the road rather than being stuck in a city. But they were in great numbers and  _angry._ To them this was a matter of honour, no-one spoke with such disrespect to their leading lady.

Tommy briefly made an calculation, his gang was outnumbered and the Lee's had always been good allies. Stubborn fuckers, but honorable fighters and gunmen.

 _You need to apologize,_ he signed to his oldest brother. When he didn't get a spark of understanding he dug out his notebook and wrote down,  _Apologize to Zilpha._

As expected Arthur exploded, because apparently 'no respectable man would apologize to that bitch'. Arthur's rage endured until Tommy had enough. He slammed his hands flat on the table, stared his brother down and wrote,  _Get the girl_.

Johnny Dogs hurried to the bar to get Maria who seemed terrified to walk into the belly of the beast. Tommy could understand why, half of the men were drunk, Arthur seemed ready to rip off someone's - _his_ \- head and the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

He pointed at his eyes and signed,  _I need you to translate to that thick stubborn fuck over there._

She nodded and cleared her throat, observing his angered motiones. "Tommy wants to tell you-," she directed herself to Arthur, "-that if you don't settle this, the Lee family won't let this go, and that it will end up badly for both sides. The Lee's are good allies and horrible opponents. They are like cockroaches. You kill one, ten come back. So you need to-" She eyed Tommy unsure to repeat what he was signing. He nodded to her bluntly and she continued with a tiny voice. "-Suck up your godforsaken pride unless you want another fucking war. Apologize to Zilpha, or unnecessary blood will be on your hands."

Silence filled the crowded backroom and everyone was waiting for Arthur to respond. Their leader seemed torn between throwing himself on his middle brother or slamming down a whole bottle of whiskey. After a few moments he settled with something entirely different.

"Fine, I'll say sorry to the wench."

That answer cleared the air for a bit and Tommy gave him an affirmative nod. Good, at least one problem was fixed. He took a swig of whiskey and didn't want to know how many more lay ahead.

"Then I guess that settles it," John said, slapping his hand down on Arthur's back. "Let's buy Zilpha a bouquet of flowers so you can kiss and make up!" He earned a harsh elbow between the ribs by the oldest and he sniggered. All the men got up to either run errands or spend time in the pub a little longer.

"Join us for another drink, Tom?" John continued, picking up a bottle of fine whiskey from their table and holding it up as a white flag, a peace offer.

He nodded his head briefly, sure why not. Making a piss of Arthur, drinking with the boys at the Garrison, he almost felt a bit like his old self again. He caughted Maria's hesitant gaze and reassured her,  _just one drink_.

.-.-.

One drink turned out to be a second one, and another one, and another one. Maria sat on the side of one of the booths while the Shelby boys roared about their victories. Well, mainly Arthur did the roaring. As far as she'd understood he was the oldest of the three and in charge of their family business.

Maria did not fully understood what that 'business' was but she wasn't stupid, it was something illegal and big. A drunken man's tongue tells the truth and she'd picked up enough of their conversation: extortion, gambling, rigged games, blackmailing. Their trademark hats hid a secret weapon; a razorblade sowed into their peaks. That was how they got their infamous name, The Peaky Blinders. These men were wicked.

And she served as a little marionette, being a voice for one of the crooks. How on earth did she get herself in so much trouble? She'd signed up for her job as a stablemaid, not for this; sitting in a bar after curfew with a bunch of drunks.

 _I need to go home,_ she signed to Tommy who ruffled viciously through John's immaculately groomed hair, pissing him off.

 _I will get in very deep trouble if I'm late sir_ , she signed again now pleading to her intoxicated boss. It was dark outside and she didn't feel like running through the streets on her own. Her aunt Mirjam had informed her what happened to young lasses who walked the streets after sunset.

 _Fine, fine_ , his insobriety making his motions groggy. It made her wonder if it was safe to walk through the dark allies with him. He'd never lay a hand on her during their work and he'd had plenty of opportunities, if he had wanted he could have easily overpowered her and take his advantage.

But she wasn't sure about his motives now, drunk and spurred up by the rants and shouts of his brothers. Still she'd settled with his company, at least she had the advantage of screaming her guts out if she had too.

 _I'll be right back_ , Tommy stood up stumbling and headed to the men's room.

Arthur leaned forward over the round table when he left and said,"Polly was right 'bout ya lass, doing a fine job."

John took a toothpick from his lips and gave her a very long stern look then eyed back at Arthur. "We'll see about that."

Maria's heart sank, as a good Christian she should not take part in this. With her eyes drawn down she remained seated until Tommy returned and motioned his goodbyes.

Walking home was more of a waltzing home. Her so called dance partner stumbled on his feet, his buzz cut messy and sweaty.

 _I don't think I have to tell you this but forget everything you heard this evening,_ he informed her,  _nobody likes a snitch._

She bit her lip and felt like a fraude, keeping her deal with Polly a secret. For a moment she wanted to confess and make her conscience clear.

But instead she walked by him in silent, because she had a lot to lose. Her job, her income, her way out of the house and the humble bit of joy she received from the horses.

 _I missed this,_ Tommy confessed crossing the street.

She gave him a puzzled look and he smiled sluggish, motioning to their surroundings,  _This,_  as if that explained it all. He hooked their arms and guided her around a street post, nearly bumping into it himself. It was the first time she recalled hearing him laugh out loud and shaking his head over his own stupidity he signed,  _Right now you are walking with a million dollar man._ His grip around her arm tightened and through the fabric of their coats she could feel his warmth.

He eyed widely at her, nervously she smiled back, unable to come up with a better response.

"I'm almost home, it's better if I walk the rest by myself," she told him quietly.

He paused abruptly, jerking her back by his sudden action and he stared at her,  _Why, ashamed to be seen with a Blinder?_

"No sir, it's not that," She immediately said,"I don't want to be seen with  _any_ man at this hour. My uncle will be very mad at me and I can't afford to be cross with him."

Tommy's stirred up anger disappeared and he nodded,  _Smart girl, stay out of trouble._

"It's already very late. I really need to go," she pressed again, carefully unhooking her arm from his grip.

He took a step back, realising how close they had been. The space created some relieve in her bearing and although his drunken state of mind, he must have noticed that too. To distance himself even more he took out his cigarettes and lit one up. For a moment his gaze dropped down and dejected he inhaled a whiff of nicotine.

 _You did good today,_  he signed to her, hesitant for a moment, looked at her and then exhaled the smoke from his lungs in a long sigh. He held his thumb up and signed,  _See you monday at the stables._  Without giving her enough time to respond he turned around and walked away, as a thief in the night.

.-.-.  


**A/N it took me some time to write this last chapter, but it was a very long one so I hope that makes it up. I like how Tommy is working out and how his interaction went with his brothers. And gosh, I love Arthur to bits.**

**Many thanks to all comments! Please be so kind to leave your thoughts for me, it's been so long since I wrote anything down and to make it extra hard it's around 1920, not familiar with that era, at all. So what do you like, what do you dislike, feedback will be loved but please be kind.**

 

**Special thanks to Comet96 for being my beta-reader!!**

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	8. The mother of all hangovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this new pawn could save their king.

.-.-.

'Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…' Polly thought sucking on her black cigarette, tilting her weight from one worn out pump to the other. It was a damn cold morning and she cursed the girl for bringing her into this early position. If she hadn't delivered such excellent work there would have been serious consequences.

"You did not show up at Watery Lane," she told the girl when she crossed the corner.

Maria visually shrunk, faltering her shoulders and dropping her gaze down.

"I am very sorry miss, my uncle would not let me out of his sight the entire weekend-"

"-Don't worry child," she waved with her cigarette, "a little bird told me you kept your part of our deal". The little bird she mentioned was Arthur and instead of chirping he'd bawled how Tommy showed up at the Garrison.  _Scorned at me as if I was an infant, bloody nerve!_  He'd grumbled angrily and Polly had to be honest; she had to blink away a few tears. Finally a sign of the old Tommy. Before the war Tommy would never leave out a chance to be an utter wisearcer to piss of his older brother.

"I had to bury my father and brother miss. I am no longer a child, definitely if I have to play the role of a spy." the girl spoke polite but with a bitter undertone.

Polly stared at her scrawny partner in crime, she wore the same outfit as before; stained oversized jeans, a loose blouse and a large bucket hat. Her posture was timide, even more then before and she kept her gaze down, ash blonde hair curtoning around her face.

When Polly spotted her at the market she did not see anyone special, besides her talent; mastering sign language. Polly knew there was not anything that would catch her nephew's attention and maybe that was the girl's second best quality.

Polly had seen Tommy's despair and frustration with the opposite sex, unable to play along if there was a wink or lingering stare. Before her nephew was a heartbreaker, an eye catcher and always good with his words. Now, having a simple chat was out of the question.

But this grey mouse, she did not pose a threat, did not stand out of the crowd and god forbid had not been corrupted yet.

Maybe her innocence could cast away some of Tommy's demons.

"Fine, miss Lehman. You will keep me informed. I will be at this exact same spot next Monday, that'll save you from your inconveniences." Polly hoped the girl would not think of this lightly, Polly Grey Shelby was not the type to lurk in narrow allies, nowadays she had personnel for that.

"See you next Monday, miss." the girl answered and hide away her well earned pounds when receiving.

Polly watched the girl hurry off to her work and stamped out her cigarette. Hopefully this new pawn could save their king.

.-.-.

A blanket of icy cold water washed over his whole upper body. Hissing and spitting he jerked up, a sharp pain throbbing in the back of his head.

""For Christ sake, get a hold of yourself will ya?" His uncle spat dumping the empty bucket at his feet.

Tommy needed a moment to adjust and get familiar with his surroundings. Apparently he'd passed out against the box of Bourdon, still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. The empty bottle of whiskey explained the headache and nausea.

"Ya scared yer lass shittless, she thought you were dead!" Charlie lectured stiff.

'Lass?' Tommy blinked a few times, the sun piercing his skull into two. Through his lashes he made out the frame of Maria. Was it monday already? How long had he been out? The entire weekend seemed to be morphed into one endless state of being drunk. He couldn't recall getting out of the stables or even taking a piss, was it really monday?

""Drunken twat…" His uncle mumbled angry to himself and turned around to head off to his duties. It wasn't the first time Charlie had to drag him out of an alcohol infused coma and he wouldn't receive any compassion from the older fellow. Not that he would allow any in the first place.

The headache was killing him and being drenched made him shiver.

A towel was being handed to him, it took him a moment to recall Maria's presents, the girl being silent and pale as a ghost. With eyes the size of saucers she gave him the towel and then headed off to take care of the horses.

Luckily for her she left the stables fast enough, his stomach jolted and he quickly grabbed the bucket. Whiskey burns twice as bad, coming out. He heaved three times before flunking back against the wood. Fuck, the entire stable was spinning and he couldn't recall his reasoning for drinking the amount of alcohol that he had in the last two days. Not that there were thay many options, either because of the nightmares or the fact that he was a mute no-good.

He realised he was not wearing his hat and it made him feel naked, fragile. The rotting part of him, all in the open. Stumbling up his feet he was glad there wasn't anything left in his stomach. Where the hell was the bloody thing?

With difficulty he pulled himself up the ladder and got onto the attic. The space was cramped and he had to bend his head to get to his sleep accommodation.

He spotted his hat hanging on one of the nails above his old mattress. He pressed the worn material firmly over his scalp and dropped down on his bed. The attic did not receive much daylight through the small and dusted window which was a good thing. He'd brought a small oil lamp when he exiled himself from Waterly lane, but hardly used it. From his bed he could always see the moon and he kept the small window wide open, providing a constant breeze. He needed that, during the nights he needed a constant reminder of being above grounds.

Other then some spare clothes, a gun, a few pictures and his mother's mirror he left all other belongings behind. He didn't need much and didn't want anything.

The headache seemed to lessen and his eyelids got very heavy within minutes he found himself drifting into a restless sleep.

.-.-.

He couldn't recall how long he'd slept but when he got down into the stables Maria was eating. So it was lunchtime apparently. "The horses didn't have any food." She informed him, her accusation not to be missed.

He really did not need her to scorn at him so he did not respond and went to the well for some water.

The cold liquid did not do his tormented stomach any good. He gagged a few times and used a lot of willpower to keep the water down.

God, he felt awful and he smelled, bad. Very bad, he needed a long hot bath. Whipping his chin his skin felt as sandpaper, he needed a good shave too.

"Eat something," Maria seemed determined to bug him today, "you should eat."

Holding onto the brigs of the well for support he swallowed a few times, fixed on not getting sick again.

She held out a piece of bread which he did not take.

"My uncle was an alcoholic," clearly she solemnly devoted herself to be a cunt today, "he died."

'Then I am a dead man walking', he thought and gave her the finger.

"Your uncle is right you know? You are a twat." She announced, spun on her heels and paraded back in.

It was the first time he heard her use a curse word and although she was entirely right she was  _not_  entitled to speak to him in such matter.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in the back of his head he marched after her, grabbed her by her shoulders and twirled her around.

_What did you call me?!_ He signed angered.

Intimidated she drew her body back but dared to look him in the eyes.

"I called you a twat and you are! None of the horses had access to food, half of them didn't have water! You were deadset to keep a mother and foal alive, I would like to see them last!" With the tip of her shoe she ticked at the empty whiskey bottle on the floor: "But I bet you where to occupied to take care of your animals."

Her accusations struck him more then he wanted show, because she was right. His usual devotion towards his animals has reached its absolute low. He could not recall even thinking about checking on Precious or his mother. He'd neglected his one and only duty.

But he would not show her his remorse, he had his pride. Infuriated he clenched his jaws he signed:  _Do not patronize me, you have no idea what it's like!_

"Oh I don't?!" Frustrated she dug her hands into her hips. "You think I don't know what it's like to have no voice? I am a girl, a  _woman;_ therefore born without one! I could scream bloody murder in the mainstreet and no-one would even gaze at me twice! But you don't see me cry about it, because I will do anything to keep me, my mom and sisters together. I had to man up after my father and brother died! So don't tell me I don't know what it's like to lose everything, because I have!"

That had to be the longest and well ment rant anyone had given him in a long time, now that she'd blurted out all her frustrations her lower lip quivered and anger made place for grief.

Yes indeed, today Tommy Shelby was the biggest twat of Small Heath.

"-We couldn't even have an open casket, they might as well could have put my brother in a cardboard box.  _Grenade,_ there was barely anything left."

Tommy closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose painfully hard to suppress a few upcoming memories of the battlefield. Faces with bulking eyes, coughing up their lungs from gass, men holding their own intestines in both hands, trying to press them back in. The heartbreaking sounds of dying horses, he never got used of that.

"-My brother would do anything to be in your shoes and you are wasting it all away, like it's nothing."

He swallowed thickly, her statement cutting him to pieces. As if it was that simple. In her eyes maybe, because he was alive and her brother wasn't. But it was not  _that simple_ , not by far. He did not expect her to understand though, she had her los and so did he.

"-Your family loves you, I can see that," she spoke, honest and without a doubt in her words.

_I know,_ he signed slow, finding it difficult to remain angered.  _I know._

"I wish I had a family like yours."

For a moment he wanted to laugh, because she sure as hell must  _know_  by now his family was so called gypsy scum. But when he looked at her, her face was all serious and then it struck him.

Carefully he tilted her chin to the side, a fading bruise marked her cheek and made her jaw swollen.

"My uncle hit me when I got home late, he already knew where I had been. And with  _who._ For a big city news travels very fast. He doesn't want me working here. But he doesn't want to get on the wrong foot with your family so he will allow it."

Tommy clenched his jaw and signed:  _What is his name?_

"I will not tell you," Maria bit her lip and stared at him pleading: "please leave my family be. If my uncle sends us away we have nowhere else to go to. My mom...she's deaf so no-one wants to hire her...And I don't have the money yet to rent a room."

And so she was stuck, powerless. Voiceless in her own way.

_I understand,_  it wasn't his place to interfere in family business, definitely if the girl didn't have any other options. But he would keep his eyes open and do some digging around, because no-one fucked with a Peaky, not even if she was just an stablemaid.

_Go clear the boxes. Give me a minute, I'll help in a second._

First, he needed a cigarette, second he needed a soddin' gun to kill the mother of all hangover. And third, he needed to grow a pair because right now  _she_ was fixing  _his_  lack of work.

He remembered the first thing she said to him:  _because I will work twice as hard for half a paycheck mister Shelby_. He snorted, lighting up his cigarette. Well, she'd been bloody right.

.-.-.

**A/N: I love how Polly is becoming a bigger part of the story, first I just wanted to write Tommy and Maria's POV's but Polly is such nice character to write about. She's the bridge between the old Tommy and the new Tommy. I also like that finally someone dared to make Tommy aware he's not the only one in the word who's voiceless. Try being a woman! Overall I am thrilled how the story is working out, I had a chapterline but now it's more of a pair of guidelines because things keep popping up and at this point I'll see where the story takes me.**

**Again tons of thanks to Comet96 for being so kind to be my beta reader!**

**Please, be so kind to leave a review,**

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	9. The beginning and the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To keep his family safe, Tommy was selling his soul to the devil. Bit by bit. And there wasn't a moment of regret.

 

.-.-.

Tommy Shelby was a born criminal and had never been ashamed about it. From a young age his father had consecrated him into the world of crime, providing him with the best tips and tricks. Being called a filthy pikey from day one, he felt no remorse  pickpocketing from the more fortunate. He'd been good at it too, a natural. 

Better than his two brothers who would glare at him enviously if he received even a crumb of their father's gratitude. Mostly that meant a pat on the shoulder and a push into the direction of his liquor cabinet. But as a child deprived as love, he took what he could get. 

His mother never made any indication of her dislike as her oldest three began to walk in the footsteps of their father. She never spoke much at all, in fact, preferring to dwell over the tragedies that had struck her poor life. Arthur Shelby Sr being her biggest and most despised flaw. She'd never stuck it under the table that she'd been forced to move in with their father after she became pregnant with their first child. She'd been under a gypsy spell, as she put it. Lured into his clutches, she would hiss this spitefully through her teeth whenever their father was out at the brothel on the end of their street. Her family had disowned her once it became clear she'd fornicated with a Romani and threw her out on the streets.

Their mother could never bring herself to love any of her children, but she hated Arthur the most. Even as a child he'd been a spitting image of his father, the same facial expressions, the same short temper and, above all, exactly same eyes.

She'd always made Arthur go to the brothel to bring their father back home. And every time their mother sent him on this despicable errand his older brother would bow his head in shame. Their mother always found a way to blame Arthur. Either it was because he'd been the first to morphed her delicate body into something fat and ugly. Or because of his incapability to keep his younger siblings under control, or simply his mere existence. Either way, their father's escapades were always Arthur's fault.

Tommy recalled seeing his brother walk down the stairs collecting the courage to go to the whorehouse, his ears red from shame. Condemned to endure their father's drunken snarls, and witness things a child his age should not be seeing. Eventually their father would retreat home, cursing the entire way with Arthur following him like a shadow. And then the fighting would start, taking ages.

Arthur would take the blame from both sides, earning a flogging from their father and resentful glares from his mother, while Tommy would gather up his younger brother and sister. He'd take them up into his bedroom and push his cabinet in front of the door, letting only Arthur in as he hurried away from the raging war downstairs.

They would sit there, John and Ada on his bed, his little sister mostly rocking back and forth with her hands clasped over her ears. Tommy and Arthur on the floor, backs firmly pressed against the cabinet in case their father tried to storm in.

The accusations would turn into screams, porcelain smashing into thousand pieces. It mostly ended with their father stopping the endless accusations of their mother with his fists. Then dragging her upstairs and claiming her wifely duties.

At a very young age, Tommy made a promise to himself, and to all women in the world, that he would never do that to a lady. Hearing his father's moans as he would try to block out the muffled cries from his mother. In the morning she would be more silent then usual and Tommy was unable to face her plagued gaze. Mostly he would hurry off to school with his siblings, skipping breakfast. He could understand her resentment towards her children, she would tell them enough.

Eventually his father had had enough of his dysfunctional family life and left them. Their mother was pregnant again and money grew tight. Without a note, without a second thought, without even a goodbye, Arthur Sr. threw in the towel and walked out of their lives.

Tommy hoped this would make their mother change for the better, but in her disturbed mind the abandonment of her no-good husband was just yet more proof of her misfortune. Now she had to take care of her bastard children all by herself, and that broke her. She hardly cared for anything anymore; abandoning her domestic duties. Mostly Tommy and Arthur were in charge of the household. Ada learned to cook oatmeal before she could spell and John became a master of peeling potatoes.

As a passive bystander, she allowed her sons to continue the path of their father, moving up from petty crime to crimes of a more serious nature. She didn't care where the money came from as long as the bills were paid and she didn't have to leave the house.

Tommy could recall his first midnight robbery. Their rent was due and there was no money, they would be out in the street after the weekend. He couldn't sleep with the thought of his pregnant mother and siblings being forced into one of the poorhouses,  _ if _ there were any beds available. It was December and snowing, the temperature far below zero.

Tommy knew he had to do something,  _ anything _ to keep his family safe and off the streets.

So he retrieved his father's revolver from the dreaded liquor cabinet, took his mother's scarf, stepped into his shoes, and did what he had to do.

At the young age of thirteen, he coldly robbed a man at gunpoint. The gun hadn't even been loaded, but cocking it and frantically screaming for money did the trick. The rush that took him over had yet to be matched. Even years later, no drug, no whore, no booze, nothing could reach that peak.

At the age of thirteen, he'd learnt that they were alone in the world, always spat on by idiots who held their chins up high. But he could make them bend and plead for their life, and he loved every second of it.

Walking home, he felt no remorse. The money burnt in his pockets. It was enough for two months' rent, and maybe even enough to buy a new coat for Ada as a Christmas present.

His mother never asked about the source of the money, his meddling Aunt Pol did however. She was a widow but the small pension was hardly enough to make ends meet. She'd taken a job at one of the laundries. After their father left, she'd help out around the house. Her son and daughter had been taken from her due to a petty crime and it had left his aunt problem, on the verge of a mental breakdown.   
  
' _ I am hearing things Neè, things that aren't there' _ , he'd heard his aunt say to his mother when they thought the kids were fast asleep, ' _ I keep hearing my babies'. _

It didn’t take long until their aunt moved into Watery Lane. The Shelby's tiny house now included two heart-broken women, but their shared dread made them bound. Their mother was more cheerful and percent, managing to prepare decent meals. Their aunt would come back from work with a bottle of bourbon and both ladies would drink the night away. Their alcohol use was a complete contrast of their father’s. Polly would sing old Romani songs and slur adventures stories about their ancestors. 

 Polly brought warmth and cosiness into their home and took on the role of a mother from time to time. There would be tea and biscuits every day and scones on Sunday mornings. Ada learned to read hands and tea leaves. John turned into Polly’s shadow and absorbed every kind word and touch. Arthur's explosive tantrums became rarer, and Tommy finally dared to let his guard down. It took him a while though, because trusting a stranger had never paid off before. Tommy had been the head of the household and wasn’t about to simply let someone else take that place. Plus, Tommy had never been impressed by any form of authority, besides his father’s iron fists. For a very long time, Tommy had done everything to push Polly away, make her leave. Every rule or boundary she tried to establish he’d demolish, he’d ignore her, provoke her and press her buttons long enough until she was in tears. More than once he’d been granted a slap across the face and at times he’d been close to hitting her back. He never did though, it wasn’t right to hit a woman.

Eventually Tommy made piece with the fact that Polly wasn’t going anywhere and deep down he was relieved that someone beside him had the brain and the right kind of heart to take care of his siblings. 

But misfortune lurked around the corner of Watery street.

Their mother left them sudden and quickly, giving birth to her last breech-born son. As Arthur was getting a midwife, and Polly needed assistance, Tommy witnessed it all. His youngest brother came into a bloody world, screaming his guts out, as their mother let out a final breath, clutching her hands around Polly's. " _ Don't let this one turn out like the others _ !"

Tommy sat there quietly with a wailing, crimson baby in his arms, as the doctor declared their mother’s passing. Bewildered, he stared at his little brother, tiny yet perfect limbs flailing around. While the midwife covered his mother's lifeless body, he wrapped his brother up in a towel, staining the fabric a vivid red. Carefully, he extended his thumb and gently pressed it against the baby's lips. He'd seen his mother do that before to keep Ada quiet.

The tiny body paused and instinctively started sucking his thumb.

Even now, years later, he felt that overpowering need of protecting his youngest brother. And for protection, there was a price that needed to be paid.

When Tommy was fourteen, the Shelby family made a name for themselves, and all those chin-up bastards all of a sudden had a good reason to look down.

Arthur managed their first robbery well and the second followed rapidly after. With their violence and victory growing, their small pack started to expand. A lot of unfortunate youngsters were more than eager to help and in a twisted way the Shelby siblings became a role model for the poorest on the streets of Small Heath.

They were rising from their father's ashes and the sky was the limit. There was no more time for spontaneous petty crimes, although Arthur had to get used to that. With calculated guidance from Polly, their family business flourished. It didn't nurture their open wounds, but it made life a hell of a lot easier.

To keep his family safe, Tommy was selling his soul to the devil. Bit by bit. And there wasn't a moment of regret.

.-.-.

"I am done with my chores. Shall I take Precious to the vet for his first check up?" Maria asked almost pleadingly in order to spend time with the young animal.

Tommy blinked his eyes a few times. He'd spaced out again. It had started to become a habit, drifting through his memories, and his solitude started to turn him into the same state his mother dwelled in. Being alone, with just your thoughts was not doing him any good. Yet he didn't have the willpower to change.

He nodded slowly, her cheerfulness was contagious, and he chuckled when she gave a toothy smile and hurried off to prepare the foal for his first appointment.

Her taking care of that brought another positive side effect, he would be able to pour down some whiskey without her rubbernecking and meddling with his alcohol indulgence.

He waved her off and pressed out his cigarette, now, where was that last bottle of whiskey?

.-.-.

The tension in the cramped household could be cut with a knife. Her uncle had banished her from the kitchen during breakfast and the evening meal. His utter rage had worn off, but it was smouldering. One wrong word or move and it would spark right up to burn off his mask.

Her uncle, a god fearing, honest, and proud man, could not cope with the fact that his family mingled with the Peaky Blinders. And he wouldn't let a chance go by to remind her of that. In his eyes she was a Judas, forced into his life by his wife. An utter abomination, a disgrace to the household and a possible threat to his sons. A gypsy-loving strumpet, whoring herself out rather than earning her fee by honest hard labour.

It didn't matter that she told him about her work as a stable maid, or about her promise to her father; that she would stay pure until marriage.

Her uncle placed more faith in the gossip than listening to her, and, if not for his fear of the Blinders, he would have kicked her out.

Being expelled into the hallway, Maria shifted on the narrow steps of the stairs to find a comfortable position; there was none. The wood was cold, and the upper step pricked into her back. She'd been given yesterday's leftovers to eat and munched on a tough crust of bread.

Tears ran down her face, and she silently let them fall on her plate. Not even her mum would believe her, and even if she did, she'd be powerless against her brother-in-law. If her sister hadn't put up a fight and pointed out her husband's Christian duty, they would have been on their way to the poor house.

Perhaps that was what frustrated Maria the most. Ever since they had came into their household, her aunt and uncle had made it painfully clear what a rough position they had put the family in and how grateful they should be, for the family's generosity and the roof over their head.

But Maria had made some calculations; because her mother had taken over her aunt's chores in the house, her aunt had been able to take a position as a sewing lady. Her two sisters where still of school age and were provided with free education during the weekdays. And her? She was earning a lot of money and was forced to give up every last penny - not that she did. She'd been saving up all her earning above the three shillings, keeping it safe in her bucket hat, sewed into a tiny pocket inside. If she'd ever wanted to have a chance of another life, this was her only option.

"A disgrace, Dotty! A disgrace!" She heard her uncle Walter roar to her mother.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she stood up. She had heard enough. Taking a veiny piece of beef from her plate she snuck up the stairs and headed to her bunk bed.

Retreating to the corner, she huddled down and took a bite of the cold meat, knowing it would not still her hunger. Tomorrow it would be Tuesday, and if she went off early there would be a warm, mouth-watering meal waiting for her. And an endless amount of proudly told stories to listen to. She'd grown fond of Charlie, who, at first glance had looked rather mean and intimidating. But, besides being awfully loud and reeking of cheap cologne, he was a rather charming fellow, and above all kind to her. Fatherly even, warning her which streets to avoid and not get into Tommy's way when he was ' _ havin' that damn look' _ .

She missed that, a man that didn't purely see her as a new source of income. A man that made her feel wanted. Above all she missed her father and brother. If one, just  _ one _ came back from the war her life wouldn't have turned into this hell. If only…

But both had died and she needed to face facts, right now this was her life and all she could do was bear it. Enjoy the tiny moments of happiness that came along. The early morning meals with Charlie, the calm nuzzling of the horses when she cleaned their boxes. The fresh air and touch of icy water when getting the bucket out of the well. All the small, new steps Precious bravely took, his tiny snout up high, parading proudly through the streets on his new shoes.

Tommy, even Tommy, made her life more bearable. Not just because he let her keep her job, but also because he was a calm constant companion during the day. He would not give her the gratitude she craved but he would help her out. He might have a scornful gaze, but nevertheless he would take over the heavy wheelbarrow if it was too much for her to handle. He'd tell her to take a break when she'd worked herself into sweat and felt like passing out.

He'd walk her home after the Garrison and today he had tried to reduce his alcohol consumption, only heading to the storage room occasionally. She was no fool. Her alcoholic uncle had always been good at hiding the bottles and she knew Tommy hid his on the lower plank behind the ropes, she'd seen it when she'd been searching for the rope during the birth of Precious.

She didn't mind him drinking though, he was more cantankerous when he was sobering up.

Downstairs there was some commotion, but Maria felt too drained to care. Even when her little sisters came into the bedroom she made no effort to tidy herself up.

"Uncle Walter called you a harlot," May whispered fearfully. "What's that?"

Glaring down at her sisters, she envied them and their youth. Why should she be the only one to work to support the family? Why could her sisters go to school and live carefree?

Instantly she felt guilty for her thoughts, at least she had lived her full childhood at the farm. With the privilege of getting to know her father as a young man and enjoying the company of her wonderful older brother. She'd be able to remember them vividly, while in a few years her brother and father would be nothing more than ghost to April and May.

She let herself lay down, wrapped herself into the blankets, and listen to the tiny voices of the twins as they tried to play a game in the moonlight.

Maria squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for morning to arrive soon.

.-.-.

**A/N As I made up mute-Tommy I also wanted to make up his 'past'. This is my version of what I think could have been the Shelby's childhood. What I like about Tommy in general is his diversity. A part of him is a very loving family man. Another part is a coldhearted killer, I like how he makes you love both of his sides.**

**Oh yes and I like to make Maria's life harder per chapter, poor thing.**

**Please share your thoughts,**

**xoxoxo Nukyster**

 


	10. A letter to the matriarch

.-.-.

Polly was smoking a cigar, while reading the newspaper. After the boys went to war she had to 'man up', and picked up the habit. First it was a tool for her facade, every time she needed to play the role of an ice cold bitch she'd huddle herself in black and press the thick tobacco between her teeth.

Men never liked to take orders from a woman and she could not afford to look fragile while her nephews were abroad. She'd distance herself from the thought of ever seeing them again, she was no fool, the amount of coffins coming back grew by day. Her given leadership might not be temporary and if life had taught her any lesson it was that she should never rely on hope.

She could hear Finn run around downstairs and Ada's aggravated hisses to keep her little brother under control. Polly rolled her eyes and blew circles into the air. The Shelby's household was never a quiet place.

Finn was always up and ready before the rooster opened an eye. During the day there was the humming and muttering coming from behind the curtains of their illegal betting shop. In the evening it was mostly Ada calling in from some everyday teenage drama and during the nights John and Arthur never failed to make as much noise as humanly possible heading home drunk.

"I swear Pol I will never be a mother!" Ada exclaimed entering her bedroom without knocking. "I've learned that bunnies sometimes eat their youngster, I'm starting to agree with their cannibalism."

Polly smirked by her niece's dramatic display. "Some bird push their youngs out of the nest, I sometimes empathise with their frustrations. Ever heard of knocking?"

Ada sulked and pouted, crossing her arms and wiggling a letter between her fingers. "I only came here to give you a letter. I think it's from Tommy." She handed her aunt the letter and left the room with her chin held high."I hope you won't push me down the stairs!"

Polly rolled her eyes again, that girl had the same taste for drama as her mother. The paper seemed to burn between her fingers and she turned it around. The envelope was neatly sealed with a drip of candle wax and with familiar bold and cursive letters it read:

_To the true matriarch of the Shelby family, company treasurer of the Peaky Blinders, advisor of yours truly,_

_Or aunt Pol, for short._

Her heart beat faster and quickly she tore off the seal, rapidly ripping the envelope open. For a moment she paused, swallowing hard and thinking of that god awful night she'd witnessed her nephew pull the trigger of his emptied gun.

The  _what if_  that crossed her mind made her stomach jolt and her throat go dry. With trembling hands she steadied herself, taking a deep breath for whatever lay written in the letter:

_A letter seems too formal, but considering the alternative I think it's most suiting. I've always been good with words, but failed to say the right things at the right times, when I still had the chance._

_I deeply regret never thanking you for keeping your head up when everyone beat us down. You took over our mother's role and you've raised us as your own, never thinking twice about it. Your strength is what keeps our family going, for better or worse._

_I regret never telling you a whole lot. All of you, I love you. All of you. This family is what keeps me from falling further apart. I regret never being able to speak up before the war._

_I regret never telling you a whole lot,_

_But I'm letting you know now,_

_Forgive me for deserting you, but know that I will be back. I just have to find a new way to fill up a place in the Shelby business._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Thomas M. Shelby._

Tears stained to the genuine words. Tommy had always been a talker, but not when it came to expressing his feelings. He'd keep everything in, wrapped it up and stored it somewhere deep down in the back of his mind.

Even as a young lad he'd exclude himself from certain feelings; it made him cold and distant when his mother died, a complete contrast with his brother's who clung to her skirt.

The only time she'd witness him cry was right after the funeral, he ran off and didn't return for hours. Instinctively, Polly knew she'd find him in the stables Charlie owned. And indeed, that had been where he ran to, his fortress of solitude. Oh how he wept, clutching the manes of his favourite mare. It had been heartbreaking, but Polly kept her distance, if he'd seen her then and there, he'd have lost the only place he allowed himself to grieve. She'd left in silence and never mentioned it to anyone.

So after the war, when Tommy moved his belongings to the stables she did not demand him to stay. She allowed him to move to his safe place and hoped for the best. If you love someone you have to let them go, but as the weeks past, turning into months, she feared he would never come home.

But her nephew was trying to get better, trying to find his new place in the world instead of spiralling down the drain.

Polly quickly folded the letter back in the envelope and placed it the draw of her desk. Blinking away a few tears she locked it, knowing Tommy would not forgive her if anyone but her read his letter. He was too proud and stubborn for that, although she knew in her heart it would bring Arthur and John the same comfort.

Especially Arthur, who had been at his side below the ground. Arthur had been there when they pulled him out of the soil of Mons, more dead than alive, bleeding with a few broken ribs and the colour of a ghost. Arthur had already been whispering his last words of goodbye when a doctor suddenly shouted they found a pulse.

Arthur had told her in confident that right then and there he'd doubted that was a good thing:  _He'd been buried for three days Pol, three long god damn days, it didn't seem right to claim 'im back to the land of the living._

It had been Arthur who'd sat by his side. Night after night, talking to his unconscious brother in disbelief that he was still breathing.

It had been Arthur who witnessed him break down when he tried to speak and failed.

And therefore, it had been Arthur who'd been shut out the worst. It broke the oldest of the Shelby siblings to be shunned by Tommy, clueless of what he'd done. But Polly knew why; he'd seen a bit of Tommy that should have stayed hidden.

Seeing him cry in the hospital, hands clenched around the white linen, unable to control his emotions, he hated Arthur for witnessing that. And so he'd shut him out, because no one was allowed to see that part of Tommy Shelby. No one should see him weak.

Through the crocheted material of her curtains she had easy access to the street. Her eyes fell on the dark silhouette leaning against the wall below the sign of  _little green lane_. A small orange speck lit up in the dark with regular pauses.

Polly shut her curtains, spun around and marched down the stairs.

"I'll be back in a few!" She informed Ada who was still busy bickering with Finn. Halfway into her coat she marched outside to find Tommy. He was not surprised, more like he was expecting her.

"I got your letter," she told him, blunt and to the point. If she showed too much emotion he might leave again. He nodded, observing her bearing with the most calculated eyes.

"You mentioned you'd be back again," she stated, if she'd ask he might refuse.

He nodded again, pressing out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe.

"That would make us all very happy, Thomas," she spoke, softer this time, allowing herself a bit of comfort, "very happy."

He nodded for a third time, slow and indifferent. Then suddenly he tilted his head in a boyish manner, almost shy. He sighed deeply, took a step forward and wrapped his arms firmly around her shoulders.

This time she allowed herself to cry, there was no stopping it anyway. She clutched her hands around his back and the croak of his neck and held him close.

"You stupid,  _stupid,_  boy!" She spat at him, and in return he squeezed her tighter.

"Come with me inside," Polly ordered pleading when he let go of her embrace.

He hesitated, awkwardly rubbing his neck.

"Thomas, come inside and see Finn, he's almost ready for bed. Your little brother needs to see you more than I do."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. Tommy took out his notebook and wrote down:  _Finn can't read._

She instantly understood his dread, there was not a decent way for him to communicate with his youngest brother.

"Finn doesn't give a damn, he just wants to see you safe and sound, breathing, and in one piece. Now come  _inside_."

.-.-.

He had expected his aunt Pol to come outside, but he didn't plan to go with her back in. Their house in Watery Lane felt warm and familiar, but he felt like an intruder, as if he stood out. Uncomfortably, he watches his aunt run up the stairs and within seconds his only sister, Ada rushed down, hairs halfway filled with curlers.

"Tommy," she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice down and flung her arms around his neck. "You look … well!" She was being honest and he could tell that from the serenity in her eyes as she stepped back, looking him over. "Are you feeling well?"

He nodded, hoping he could live up to his sister's expectations.

"John and Arthur are out," she informed him, expecting him to be disappointed. He nodded, keeping his face in place, glad is brothers weren't present.

The steps creaked familiar under his feet as he made his way to Finn's room, and he could hear Finn babbling away to Polly from inside his narrow bedroom.

The eyes of his younger brother lightened up when he leaned in over the doorstep. Polly's effort to get him into bed had been pointless, the little boy sat up and threw his blanket off.

"TOMMY!" Finn screamed in utter bliss and wrapped his arms tightly around his brother's back. "You're back!"

Tense at the unfamiliar contact with Finn, Tommy sighed as he ruffled his hand through Finn's hair and smiled down on the boy who squeezed him tight.

"Tommy, watch!" Finn took a step back, planting both feet firmly on the floor. He pressed his thumb against his chest: "I'm F-i-n-n!" and finger-spelled his name.

Tommy chuckled and pushed his thumb up. "I'm learning from Polly," Finn exclaimed, beaming with pride. "So you can play with me again. I've miss you lots…" the boy spoke, softer now and unreserved.

"I bet Thomas missed you too," Aunt Poll filled in for him. He gave Polly a scornful look, she had no right to speak for him, he wasn't a child.

Sinking to his knees, he resting a consoling hand on Finn's cheek and pulled his younger brother close. Two small hands wrapped firmly around his neck as he picked him up to lay him back in bed.

He could see his aunt biting back her emotions at his caring action and rolled his eyes, as if she'd never seen him act like a big brother before.

He wrapped the blanket firmly around Finn's chest, knowing his brother would kick it fully off in his sleep in matter of hours. Before the war he'd always check Finn's room, tucking him in again before going to bed himself.

He snapped his fingers and held up his hand, receiving Finn's complete focus. Wiggling his fingers he made a fist, blew on it and magically a penny appeared when he opened his hand.

Finn laughed and clapped, receiving the money from his brother.

Tommy felt himself warm up inside and smiled, kissing his brother's forehead and ruffling through his hair one more time.

"Will you be here in the morning?" Finn asked hopeful. His heart ached seeing the pleading eyes of his younger brother stare up at him like that.

"He will be home soon," Polly said and with slight aversion he nodded, "go to sleep now, Finn, Tommy and I have a lot to discuss." She motioned him into the hallway, to her office. "Shall we?"

Before she could begin he signed to her:  _I need to address the girl_.

Polly froze on the spot, one hand on the arm of her chair. She eyed him, questioning his motives. Starting to sink down on the frame she folded her hands together. "What about her?"

Her nephew grabbed a wooden stool and sat down across of her.

_She's troubled,_ he signed not letting any emotion show from his bearing.  _Do you know where she lives?_

"I have a suspicion." Polly answered.

He raised his thumb up and motioned from his eyes to hers:  _Good, I want you to keep an eye on her_.

"Why is that, Tom?" Polly questioned.

An inarticulate noise escaped from the back of his throat:  _Her uncle beats her_ , he eventually confined to her.

Polly did not seem surprised or shocked. "I'll see what I can do."

Tommy nodded slowly, hiding the tension in his fingers he wrote down:  _She's an employee of the Blinders, therefor she's under our protection, I will not condone any harm on her, not even from the hands of relatives._

"You made your point, I gave you a promise. Now let's talk business," Polly continued matter-of-factly. "You need to come back, Thomas, you've been cramped up long enough in the stables. Believe it or not, Arthur listens to you. He apologised to Zilpha, bowed down and scrape his forehead on the floor if I must believe John. I'm not exactly sure the Lee's are back being our allies, but at least we are no longer enemies."

Tommy tilted his head and quirked up his lips with the thought of Arthur on all fours, cursing him under his breath while pleading to Zilpha to forgive his barbaric behaviour.

John would not let him forget that, not ever.

"Arthur listens to you.  _Only you_ , although he will never admit it to any soul. I kept this business running while you all fought for the king. I will not let it slip through my fingers because of a loose cannon!" She stated, referring to Arthur. Taking out two glasses and a bottle of red wine she muttered to herself."Bloody menfolk…"

Polly was a lioness, always had been. Protecting her cubs, their house and her family business. Even keep him out of harm's way, protecting him … mainly from himself. He remembered what his elderly neighbours used to say to each other when he crossed them on the street.  _The end of a rope has been that man's destiny since the day he was born_.

With his roots and upbringing many were astonished by what he'd accomplished at such early age. Some impressed, most of them enviously, but all in awe anyhow.

"So, what is your plan, Tommy?" she poured out a glass for him and filled hers to the top when he shrugged.

"Oh Lord…" Greedily she drank almost draining the glass and quickly filled it back up.

Guilt-ridden, Tommy stared at his own, unaware of his aunt's brooding face.

"Be Arthur's advisor," she ordered him, "that way he won't think you'd try to undermine his leadership. Meet with him during daytime, he is easier to bribe when he's sober. Take the girl, her words won't seem as harsh as your writings. And for god's sake, Tommy, try to keep him in line or he will damn us all. Let Arthur have his shimmer in the spotlights, while you and I run this bloody circus."

Tommy let the information sink in, taking his time and swirling the wine inside the glass. The dark crimson liquid reminded him of all the blood he'd seen in France. How he'd been covered with it from head to toe.

In a flash he found himself reliving the last few minutes of his self-instigated burial. He'd known he signed himself up for an early grave when he pressed the detonator ten feet below the ground. He'd also knew that if he sacrificed himself, his brothers, both blood and those in arms, would be safe.

Somewhere deep down, behind the mask of a cold hearted gangster there was a much stronger part of him that solemnly lived to protect. He would keep his family out of harm's way, no matter what.

He switched the detonator and welcomed death. Embracing the full impact of the blast, the tunnels gave in and darkness surrounded him. Thick, crushing darkness, freezing him in a fetal position.

But he did not die, his sacrifice gave him no relieve, instead a dreadful burden to bear. Time seemed to pass endlessly, his limbs turned stone cold and ached, unable to stretch. A few broken ribs painfully kept him conscious.

Arthur later informed him he'd been under the ground for three days, but it had felt like an eternity. Although he remained awake most of the time his mind had started to play tricks on him. Hallucinating from lack of water, fresh air and a concussion, he'd begged for his mother to take him away. He re-lived his childhood nightmares of being alone in the dark unable to find any light.

After a while he'd begged for death. But instead he'd watched as a light appeared at the end of the tunnel and shovels dug him out of his nameless grave.

From the entire journey to the hospital he could not recall a single moment. All he did remember was pain, so much pain. It had been unbearable and he screamed, howled, and cried.

Eventually, a doctor figuring out the source of his tortured outcries. Blood had been building up inside his skull for three days and if he would have had any strength left he would have scratched his brain out by himself.

_Trepanation_ , the doctor had exclaimed hurried and pumped his veins full of anaesthetics.

Next thing he could remember was Arthur sitting by his bed, located in a sterile white room that hurt his eyes. He couldn't speak, couldn't breath on his own, and he couldn't move. All he could do was blink and fight the tubes inside his throat, reliving the suffocation below ground.

'Dead man walking', he thought to himself, 'I'm a dead man walking.'

_I'll be at the Garrison tomorrow around noon_ , he solemnly wrote down and showed Polly.  _I'll see if I can figuratively talk some sense into his thick skull._

.-.-.

**A/N I think this chapter is key to mute-Tommy’s transition. He’s making the step to claim back his rightful place in the Shelby family. I also like that this chapter gives a little background of what happened days before Tommy losing his ability to speak. My heart also goes out to Arthur, who’s been the beaten underdog his entire life. First by his parents and now shut out by his younger brother, simply for seeing too much.**

**A penny for your thoughts,**

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	11. New directions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I meant it when I promised Polly I'd be your advisor.

 

.-.-.

Tommy didn't bother explaining to Maria about their destination when he signed her to come along. During the early morning she'd often gave him a troubled look; he was rather short tempered. It was the nerves, he didn't like to admit it, but he felt anxious about his meeting with his older brother.

Getting mixed with business meant getting back into the saddle. During short family gatherings he could keep his act up and play the role of the old Tommy, but being more of a bystander then an actually member of his pack was most depressing. The invisible wall of silence always kept him out of true touch and contact. Sure, he could nod, write and throw in a punch when he had to, but any deeper meaning remained just out of reach.

Secretly he'd grown content of his hard-laboured odd job at the stables, heading into the city mainly for the horses. It gnawed at him that he needed to take on a new role; Arthur's advisor.

With barely anything in his stomach, besides a few swigs of Whiskey for good luck, he motioned for the girl to pick up her lunch and follow him.

Surprised she stared at him as she collected her food but knew better then to question him. He was glade with her qualities; at times she could be bubbly, especially if she was working with the horses,but she also knew when it was better not to ask any questions and simply do what was told.

Her face fell a bit when she noticed their directions took her back to the Garrison. Their shared misfortune gave him a weird sense of unity although he'd rather eat his own flap hat then admit it.

Taking out a new cigarette while pressing the last one out he could feel his fingers twitch. They did that from time to time, involuntarily he'd drop his cup of tea or bottle of Whiskey. By now he wasn't sure if it were the sudden burst of nerves that could jolt through his body, his peeking alcohol indulgence, or his head trauma.

Maybe it was a mixture of it all, he rather did not think about it.

As expected, it was quiet in the pub, besides the regular group of elderly card players and Harry polishing glasses, the place was empty.

Receiving his on-the-house drink he despised, he motioned Maria to order something for herself. Without informing her he took her steaming cup of tea from the bar and walked into the private office in the corner. She followed obediently while munching on her lunch.

"Do you need me as your translator?" She questioned softly, her fingers nervously repositioning her oversized bucket hat.

He nodded shortly, filling up his lungs with much needed nicotine.

They'd both finished their drinks when the door slammed open and with much sound and brawl Arthur marched into their quiet quarter.

"TOMMY!" he yelled enthusiastic with open arms, "Lass!" he added when his eyes found Maria's tensed figure.

With a bottle in one hand and three glasses in his other he parked his ass on one of the empty chairs and placed his boots on the ebony table.

"Pol told me you felt like talking-... figuratively speaking of course, ya know what I mean." His brother shrugged awkwardly looking back and forth to his two associates.

Ill-at-ease Maria drew her gaze firmly down to her knees and Tommy started to regret his promise to his aunt.

"I said sorry to the cunt," Arthur continued bitterly, "thought you would like to know, I did listen to ya."

'And what do you expect now, a standing ovation?' Tommy thought cynically but raised his thumb up to flatter his older brother's ego.

He earned a smug wide grin for his brother who quickly occupied himself with pouring in drinks.

"...I-...I don't drink, sir," Maria stammered with a tiny voice.

Arthur looked at her as if she'd gone mad. "Of course you do, everybody drinks." He shoved a glass of whiskey in front of her, "bottoms up."

Dejected Maria stared at the brown liquid the glass contained and scrunched up her nose when she inhaled the strong smell.

"So, what more brilliant advice do you bring to this table?" Arthur asked, knocking on the wood with the heel of his boot.

Tommy knew his brother meant it in all seriousness, but couldn't he try to take their meeting less lightly? This was important for their family business after all. And just because he'd banished himself into the stables didn't mean he stopped thinking about their future.

He made eye contact with Maria who gladly placed her glass down and sat up to observe him.

"We are second best, Arthur," she started her translation, "the italians have more peas in the pot and if we want to narrow their influence and ground we need to expand."

His brother pressed a sour face and raised an eyebrow. "And how are you planning to do that? Our boxing rings are already bursting out of proportions, the coppers are always on our tail and fixing races is a tricky business. Kimber is like a dog with a bone. We don't want to piss in his ally."

Tommy smirked wickedly and signed to Maria who quickly continued. "We'll take another road, Arthur. We are going to selling T-O-K-Y-O," Maria slowly added his last word which he finger spelled.

Arthur laughed out loud, then paused and tapped against the side of his head when he noticed Tommy's serious stare.

"Have you gone mad brother?" He snapped. "Cocaine?! How the bloody hell do we get our hands on a large sum of cocaine?!"

"Simpel," Maria translates, "we make a deal with the Chinese."

Arthur's mouth dropped and he grunted. "Polly told me you we were going to have a serious conversation about our business.  _My_  business as I recall. So if you're just taking the piss out of me-"

Apologetic, Tommy raised his hand and quickly started to motion at Maria who rapidly filled in. "-Hear me out brother; the Chinese have their contacts but their market range is rather limited.  _We_ , on the other hand, own this city and we ain't afraid of the coppers. Those chinks don't like to get their hands dirty so if we manage to buy a large sum of cocaine all at once they will gladly sell it."

Arthur didn't like his plan, he could see that: "And how are we getting that amount of money, Thomas?"

"Simple, we sell our best boxing ring to the Lee's. The one at Wolverhampton's I'd say."

Arthur chuckled humourless. "You want to sell our most profitable source of income to the Lee's to get in contact with the Chinese?"

Tommy nodded and eyed Maria for her to continue. "Yes," she translated, "you see the Wolverhampton's has a  _name_ , and that's our problem. Everybody knows about the place. Right now we pay the coppers a fair price to keep their nose out of it, but in time, someone will snitch and heads will roll. If we sell now, we'll have a lot of profit. And we will show Zilpha our good nature. She doesn't know about our business with the coppers and she doesn't have too. The moment we sell it to her we drop our deal with the pigs. We will sell her a sinking ship for a good prize and she won't even know it. If the coppers break the place apart and shut it down her rage will be on them, not on use."

"So… lemmy get this straight... _I_  had to apologise to the cunt, while you are planning to stab her in the back?"

Tommy grinned wide and Maria spoke, "It's simply business. We earn a lot of money off a sinking ship, gain a possible new pact with the Chinese, and set up a new flourishing exportation; cocaine, our new investment."

Arthur grew completely silent, rubbed his face, and slammed down his whiskey. "Tom, in all honesty, I don't know what to think'"

"So don't," Maria translated with a tiny voice, "Let me do the thinking."

Tommy took out his notebook and wrote down in all sincerity,  _I meant it when I promised Polly I'd be your advisor._

Arthur sat up straight when he received Tommy's notebook and read the lines a few times over. Touched by his younger brother's well meant words he leaned over the table to pull Tommy into a rough hug.

"Welcome back brother," Arthur whispered in his ear before retreating back to his seat, his eyes a bit watery from emotion.

Tommy shallowed hard and nodded slowly in return, he'd set the bar high, not just business wise, but also for himself. Having this first meeting would cause a snowball effect; many more would follow, resulting in him being forced to leave his safe house often.

And although he loved the thought of having an active role in their family, it also frightened him beyond belief. What if he couldn't live up to his former reputation? What if he'd let everybody down? What if, they wouldn't take him serious due to his disability? That all was a lot to chew on.

"I'll talk it over with John and Pol," Arthur promised. "Will you meet me here after the weekend? On Tuesday, that'll give me some time to think things through."

Tommy hardly believe Arthur had the capacity to weigh all options and disadvantages of his plan, but he nodded slowly, this was not the time to get on Arthur's wrong foot.

"Alright then," Arthur took the bottle of whiskey and stood up, "I'll see the two of you in a bit, cheers, Tom, Lass."

_I don't have to tell you to keep your mouth shut about everything that happened between these four walls do I?_ Tommy wrote down for Maria as Arthur walked out.

She peeked over his shoulder and read the lines.

"As long as you don't make me drink that Whiskey all your secrets are safe with me," Maria muttered softly and firmly pushed her glass across the table.

Tommy chuckled, snatched the glass out of her grip and drained it with one swig, holding his thumb up,  _Deal._

.-.-.

**A/N I've been thinking a lot about the directions I want Tommy to follow. In this story Tommy can't rely on his smart mouth. To me it didn't make any sense to follow the direction of the show. Because this mute-Tommy can't deal with Kimber the same way the show-Tommy does. So, I wanted to let mute-Tommy map out his own plan for his future. And his future will revolve around cocaine. And personally I really like to make up something entirely new then to follow the show-storyline. A lot of thrilling, nasty business will be coming up. The Italians, the Lee's, the Chinese, oh even some gypsy spells and gossip are coming up. I really like where this story is taking me. And I really would like to know if I'm keeping Tommy and the others in character.**

**Please leave me feedback,**

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	12.  The Calm before the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know your verses?"

 

.-.-.

At the darkest of the night, when he lay awake, his skin clammy and muscles tense, he would hear them. The shovels, scraping at their walls, at the back of his mind, on the inside of his skull. Soft, at first, but gradually coming closer. Up until his chest would feel completely empty and somehow tight at the same time. Up until he choked and the smell of blood overwhelming him; the taste of it in the back of his dry throat. Reaching that point, all forms of logic and rationally where out of the window and all that mattered was drowning out all his senses with cheap whiskey. He didn't care for life or death, not at that point. All that mattered was to blur out the remembrance of pain, the utter terror, and fragments of war.

Tommy Shelby had never been a God fearing man, neither did he fear death. But reliving those moments scared him beyond reason. It scared him shitless, turned him into a spineless little boy who craved for his safety blanket; alcohol.

During those nights he would reach for the bottle, time after time. Without it he couldn't breath.

" _I think I should get a doctor sir!"_

" _Nonsense lass, I ain't paying shit for his hangover!"_

Voices, familiar ones reached his subconscious and his aching body stirred. He was cold, teeth chattering cold. Feeling out of place of his own body he curled up into a ball. The back of his throat was on fire and the sour taste of vomit a revolting reminder of his stomach unable to keep all the booze down. The muscles of his fingers where spasming out of control and he honestly tried to keep himself together by making himself as small as possible. The shirt he wore was drenched with cold sweat and so was his hair.

A calloused hand gripped his chin, hard enough to force him to look up. His uncle Charlie towering over him with worry and disappointment written over his face.

"Jesus, Tom, ya need ta stop doing this to yerself," The older man whispered to him sincere.

"He's bleeding and stammering nonsense," A high-strung voice piped in, as a deer struck in headlights Maria stared down at him from behind his uncles shoulder. "He needs a doctor."

His uncle's grip around his chin eased and he did not possess the strength to keep it up. A layer of straw prevented him from a face-front head clash with the stone ground. If anyone could muster up a bit of sympathy to put a bullet through his throbbing brain he would be rather grateful.

"He needs a doctor," the lass pressed urgently.

He coughed and tried to clear his throat, 'what I need is a fucking lobotomy', he thought bitterly and spat out some bile.

His uncle hummed indecipherable and tried to pull him into a sitting position.

Being a perfectly fine trainwreck that wanted to be left alone Tommy used all his strength to beat his uncle's calloused hands away from him. Even being severely hungover and sick he would most definitely outmatch his uncle and earning a few curses Charlie stepped back.

"Soddin' fool!" Charlie shouted agitated rubbing his sore jaw. "Damn you and yer thick skull!"

His sudden motions made him nauseous, bile rising inside his stomach and he renched, holding his belly.

"Wait, you can't leave him like this!"

"Sure I can, he ain't my responsibility, the bloody idiot!"

And sweet bliss, silence fell again. He closed his eyes and tried not to think. Pain, it changed a person. Affects every nerve. It made them trust less, overthink more and shut people out. Yet, at the same time pain was what kept a person going.

Pain was what made him get out of bed, get him to the horses, get him through the day. Because when you know the true meaning of pain you will do your absolute best to avoid it.  
The mental torment he'd endure every night, it was enough to keep him busy during the day, forcing himself to drain out every last bit of energy by heavy labour. Because, maybe, just maybe if he'd pushed himself over the last edge of exhaustion he would find a bit of comfort in his sleep.

Footsteps retreated softly and he stirred, bulging his muscles up for another encounter.

"Don't hit me," her words were more pleading then an order. Through squinted eyes he tried to focus on the lass. She kneeled beside him and placed her head on the floor and in a attempt to make eye contact whispered, "Please, don't die."

He chuckled out loud; 'already halfway there…' His vision went blurry and his eyes rolled back.

Cautiously she lay a hand on his forehead, her skin radiated with warmth.

"You're freezing," she continued, thankfully keeping her voice down. She didn't need to tell him that, he didn't recall the hours he'd spend passed out on the floor but it had to be many considering the muscle ache in his limbs and back.

Careful she wrapped a horse blanket around his shoulders. For a moment he debated to throw another fit, being tucked in like a infant had not been on his to-do-list. But his weak state took his spirit to fight away and he allowed her to mother over him. The familiar smell of the animals had a soothing effect on him, nuzzling into the welcoming warmth he listened to her hum and rummage around him.

"Don't worry about the horses, I'll take care of them," she promised sincere, placing another blanket underneath his head.

With closed eyes he unflatteringly pulled himself into a fetal position, trying to absorb all warmth greedily. Although he still did not recall ever asking her to be his bloody babysitter, he was deeply thankful for the blankets and nodded softly, afraid his head might burst open.

During the morning he'd slip from conscious into subconscious back and forth. During his lucid moments he watched her through his lashes as she took care of the horses. The old songs she'd hum reminded him of how his mother would lull him into sleep, all those years ago when she still cared for him. For most of the day he slept, actually slept and could feel his body ease and warm up.

"You should eat something," the lass told him, chewing on a piece of bread. He did not recall her sitting down next to him, or getting food, "can you sit up?"

He'd been wondering that himself, unsteady he pushed one hand on the floor and pressed himself up against the wooden box. He flinched when he tried to use his other hand. A cut ran through the palm of his hand and he noticed the crimson specks on his sleeve and shirt.

"You broke a bottle, I've cleaned up the glass", she informed him matter-of-factly, breaking her bread into two and held it out.

Oppressing his hangover reflex to gag at the sight of anything edible he took it from her and stubbornly munched a bite. The food felt like a stone in his stomach and he coughed, his throat still felt like sandpaper. But his stubborn pride stopped him from asking for water, her meddling around him was one thing. He did not need her care, he simply allowed her to tend to his needs.

They ate in silence, well mostly she did. Tommy was more occupied with ignoring her cautious glances she threw at him every time his eyelids started to feel heavy.

_I'm not made from fucking p-o-r-c-e-l-a-i-n,_ he finger spelled and gave her a cold glare.

Her cheeks flushed and quickly threw her gaze down to the tips of her shoes. As a young child caught in the act she apologetically mumbled, "sorry."

He couldn't fully define where his vexation came from, but frustration bubbled up from his stomach. He fought a bloody war, still felt like he only party returned. He needed a lot of things, purely materialistic things because he did not believe in miracles or therapists. He needed money, cars, drugs, whores, anything to flatter up his damaged ego. What he did not need was  _pity_ , definitely from a girl who barely made it through puberty.

_Go home_ , he signed caulously and pointed to the open door. Outside it poured and it suited the atmosphere inside his stable.

Taken aback, Maria started to stutter. "B-but I'm not finished… the horses-"

He raised his hand to cut her off and motioned to the door. To give his order more meaning he stood up. Shaky and biting the inside of his cheeks to suppress the pounding headache he reached for a pitchfork and started scraping hay aside. Spinning on his feet he held tightly to the wood to keep him standing and stubbornly refused to acknowledge he was not fit to do any type of work.

"I'm very sorry, please forgive me if I've offended you, Tommy." She addressed solemnly still not moving an inch closer to the door. If she would remain indoors much longer Tommy could not promise himself he'd still be standing. Cold sweat started to form a V on the front of shirt, the fabric sticking against his skin. With one shaking, bloody hand he made one more nudge to the door and realised if she refused he did not bare the strength to throw her out.

"-Please don't send me away," she continued in a humble tone, "I don't want to go home. I  _hate_  going home. My uncle hates me, my aunt doesn't want me around her sons, my mother thinks I'm-... I-... I don't want to go home."

A part of Tommy's inner child warmed up to her. Recalling countless times he stayed after class as punishment for his violent outbursts, Tommy slowly lowered his hand.

He remembered vividly how his teacher, Miss Changretta, would lecture him about his scandalous behaviour as he swept floors and cleaned chalk from the blackboard. During his short school career he'd been an absolute nightmare for his teachers and bullied most of his classmates. He would griedly grab every chance to postpone returning home. Both his brothers preferred roaming the streets, but Tommy felt more content inside the classroom. Miss Changretta must have known about the turmoil at home and occasionally cut him some slack, rewarding him with candy or a kind word. Although he could make her blood boil he deeply cared for his teacher that disciplined him more then both his parents ever did. The warm classroom, the simple chores, an occasional pat on the back was enough to keep him from the streets. Never did she raise a question about his home situation and it made him able to let his guard down. For Tommy his short school career had been another sanctuary. The calm before another storm.

Maria gained his sympathy and maybe it was time for him to cut her some slack. After all, she was doing a profound job as a replacement for Curly and as his personal speaker. If he wanted to maintain her as a stablemaid and as an instrument to speak with Arthur, he should try and keep her from drowning in her sorrows. The girl already looked so scrawny and depressed, if she would appear publicly at his side she needed to look … well at least less dreadful.

She deserved a little more calm before the storm. Pushing the pitchfork in her hands he signed to her to clear the area.

Lightheaded and black dots covering his view he made it into the storage room. Quickly lowering himself to his knees he leaned against the wall. With his good hand he yanked the door shut and breathed in and out to keep nausea away. His body was not going to tolerate his abuse much longer and it felt like he was fighting another battle. Curious of how much his body could actually take he reached for his secret hiding stock and pulled out a fresh bottle of Whiskey. As his fingers already twined around the cork he tried to ignore the scraping of the pitchfork coming from the stable. He could practically feel her prying eyes, condemning his frequent alcohol abuse.

Another feeling bubbled up and it wasn't anger, it was guilt. Ever since she shared the tragic story about her deceased father and mutilated brother, and how much he would have given to be in his shoes, it felt like a shard of the granate merged into his heart and pressed deeper every time he reached for a bottle in her presence.

And maybe after last night's trip through limbo it wasn't such a bad idea to leave the new bottle untouched.

For a few minutes he was having an inner dibate of what was more agonizing; remaining sober or getting sick again. In dismay, he shoved the bottle back away and instinctively reached for his cigarettes.

The thought of seeing his beloved stable go up in flames made him stumbled outside, into the pouring rain. He almost headbutted with his uncle who still seemed less then please to see him. Both men glared at each other and Tommy heard Charlie mumbled a few Romani curses under his breath.

"For your lass and her sisters," Charlie practically spat on his face and tossed a paper bag in his hands. Resolute his uncle spun on his heels and with large steps rushed back to his office to get out of the pouring rain.

Raising his middle finger up in the air he sucked on his cigarette and safely stayed in the doorway. One, to keep his balance, and secondly to not get soaked to the bone.

Before he had the chance to inspect the content, the bag was rapidly snatched from his hands. A little too fast and the paper tore.

A vary of books dropped into soaked soil and Maria moaned in agony.

_Didn't take you for such lustful romantic,_ Humored he tapped against the muddy cover of Wuthering Heights.

The bright shade of red decorated her face up to herher ears. "I love to read." Quickly she sank to her knees to save the books from the water and muck, it seemed like a lost battle. "The only book in my illiterate uncle's house is the bible, therefore I am thankful for every page I can get."

Whipping off mud on her trousers she continued, " I'm sorry I ripped them out of your hands, Charlie promised them to me and since you two don't seem to see eye to eye-"

_We never seem eye to eye,_ Tommy informed her blunt,  _but we are k-i-n,_ he spelled.

Her eyebrow raised up: "Kin?"

Tommy nodded,  _family, gypsy blood is thick_.

"Thicker than both your skulls?" She questioned, a humoured smile dared to creep up upon her face.

He suppressed a grin and nodded, exhaling smoke up into the rainy air. Both watched through the doorway to the drenched yard. Small heath always looked miserable during rain. And it rained, most of the time.

_It's a good day for a wedding_ , Tommy signed thoughtfully watching the grey clouds up above.  _Brings good luck and wealth, the rain_ , he signed when he saw her puzzled expression.  _Gypsy superstition_.

She hummed and thoughtfully murmured, "That explains why it was so sunny the day we got to Small Heath."

Her sour-faced expression darkened when lightning struck, rapidly she retreated inward and dropped to the floor when her heel hit the doorframe, "that's how my home burned down," she confided and jolted up by the sound of thunder, a storm was coming close.

Reaching out he took her now trembling hand and pulled her back on her feet. Awkwardly she pulled her hand back and flinched by another flash of lightning. The horses sniffed nervously inside their boxes and Tommy knew it was going to be a long night.

.-.-.

As time passed and gusts of rain kept pouring down, her sobering up employer proudly taught her one of the famous gypsy scams, The three-card-monte, also known as  _find the lady_  was a confidence game in which the victim or 'mark' was tricked into betting a sum of money, on the assumption that they can find the money card among the three face-down playing cards.

At first he let her win a few times and then she lost three times in a row when he signed,  _You lose, you clean up horseshit for a month._

Still wearing a smug grin he played a round with open cards. The key of the game was: although it appeared that the dealer was tossing the lowermost card to the table, in actuality he tossed either the top or the bottom card at will. Thus, having done so, and while mixing up the cards the victim will be followed the wrong card from the beginning. He let her hussle the open cards up until the point she managed to mix up the cards at will.

Through the cracks and the holes in between the wooden structure of the stables the flashes of lightning still flickered on and off. Indian styled she fiddled with the cards on top of a cardboard box, enjoying her newly learned skill more and more.

She'd always loved board and card games. This recent one was rather wicked but honestly, after all the other unholy things happening around her, this actually brought some joy.

_That will get you rich at the market_ , Tommy informed her watching her from above, leaning against the stable box.  _Earned me a lot of pennies and a few beating in my younger years_.

Her lips turned into a smile as she flipped the queen of hearts between her fingers, "'For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money have wandered from faith and pierced themselves with many griefs'," she quoted, "Timothy 6:9-10."

Tommy scoffed and tauntingly drew a cross on his chest and signed,  _Of course, forgive me. I forgot I was in the presents of the holy Mary."_

He shoved the cardboard box out of the way and gestured for her to hand over the card game. During the next hour Tommy showed her a vary of ways on how to shuffle cards. In the illuminating lights of the oil lamps his skillful motions were somewhat hypnotising.

"The art of deceiving," Maria mumbled, once more picking the wrong card.

Tommy shook his head, cigarette dangling on the tip of his lips ready to be lit,  _the FINE art of deceiving,_ and held up the queen of hearts. Flipping the card he wrote something down and handed it over to her:  _the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it? Jeremiah-_

"-Seventeen- nine," Maria filled in breathless and looked up somewhat shocked, "You know your verses?"

Tommy nodded and wrote down,  _Pol shoved a lot of bullshit down our throats back in the day._

"You don't strike me as a god fearing person."

Tommy picked his jacket hanging from a nail and fiddled in the pockets, collecting his notebook he flipped through a few pages and patted down on a word,  _Correct._

His answer did not come as a surprise, his next neatly written line was however,  _I don't fear what I don't believe._

"You don't believe in God?" Maria questioned.

Tommy nodded and provocatively made a small cross on his chest, followed by a raised middle finger towards the ceiling.

"But what if you die? Aren't you scared for your afterlife?"

Tommy shook his head instantly and raised one eyebrow, challenging her to ask another question.

After all the ungodly things she'd witnessed around him only one question seemed to matter, "But what if you go to hell?"

His icy blue eyes lost all their warmth and attitude, staring her down until she quickly blinked and realised she might have overstepped a line, he lowered his flat cap and turned his head. With his index finger he trailed the hideous lines of scar tissue and provokingly glared back at here and mouthed,  _been there_.

Their easfull bubble they'd created to shut out the horrible weather bursted and the comfortable atmosphere disappeared as snow for the sun. Her employer grew back into his cold and distant self and he routinely pulled out a new cigarette.

Maria realised she blew out the little flame that had lit up in Tommy's eyes ever since he showed her how to play the three-card-monte, "I should be going home, I think," she said reluctantly.

Tommy eyed from the hazard outside back at her and tapped against the side of his head.  
  
"I know, but it's getting late and I don't want them to think that-... to think…" she paused and was painfully aware of Tommy's questioning expression.

"My uncle, aunt, and mother think I'm ... sleeping with you." She could feel her cheeks and ears turn red.

Tommy's eyebrows went back up again and for reasons unknown to her, he seemed very pleased with himself. His cigarette dangled between firm lips as he wrote down in his notebook,  _Then stay_.

She could feel her cheeks burn, but that wasn't from shame. "I'm not sure what you are implying, but I'm not a whore." Resolute she jumped on her feet and went to fetch her bucket hat. Ready to march into the horrible weather Tommy threw an apple across the stable to catch her attention. Angered she looked back when the fruit nearly hit her head.

_Calm down Virgin Mary_ , Tommy signed pushing himself off the stable box and walked up to her,  _I'm a gentleman,_ as a refined man he tipped his hat back and threw his jacket around her shoulders,  _I shall walk you home m-y-l-a-d-y_ , he fingerspelled.

Maria didn't know if she should laugh or remain mad at his mockingly behaviour. "You'll get soaked to the bone," she stated stiffly.

He shrugged carelessly and helped her into his jacket, then hooked arms and pulled her into the storm.

.-.-.

**A/N jeez this chapter took FOREVER. I disliked it a lot and re-wrote the entire thing. First it was 'just a filler' but now that I changed a few things and made it longer some very important things are said and done. I like their interaction and I like how Tommy is getting a soft spot for her, realising she's going through similar things he went through during his childhood.**

**Again, much thanks to Comet96 for being my beta reader**

**X Nukyster**


	13. Back in the saddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this was as he later recalled the moment hell broke loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I highly suggest you listen to the song 'Cruel man' from the band Intwine. It's from my home country and it very suiting for the chapter.

 

.-.-.

He hadn't slept, but she didn't need to know that. After he kindly walked her across town and waved her off at the end of her street, he walked in one straight line back to the stables. His coat, which he'd taken back to prevent her from a spanish inquisition, had been drenched, same as his hat, hair, shirt, and trousers. Jumping out of his clothes he wore nothing more than his underwear he huddled himself into horse blankets while his teeth rattled.

The thunder kept him awake, the rain kept him awake, the frightened sounds of the horses … everything kept him up, and his sleep deprived mind morphed it all into a reenactment of the battlefield in Verdun.

But he fought the urge to drink and blocked out every thought and emotion. He kept the door open for the cold breeze of air, a most welcoming reminder that he was at home, in Small Heath. If he was able to stay awake, this night would eventually pass and he would conquer one more trauma.

At dawn he found himself sitting in Monaghan Boys and Precious' box, blankets wrapped firmly around his shoulders and his empty gun pointed at the door. But he was awake, sober and felt victorious.

Now if he would make it through another ordeal with Arthur he could allow himself to let his guard down.

Maria showed up, eyes red and a mark on her cheek. He made no comment about her horrible night and she didn't ask about what kept him up. Quietly, they moved around each other, she started feeding the horse, he got his cramped body up from the floor and went upstairs to change into something suitable. Since he was going to meet his brother he felt he needed some class and gave himself a fresh shave and wrapped himself in his grey three buttoned suit.

Heading down he caught her nibbling on an apple while petting Precious and his stomach growled, as if his body all of a sudden realised it needed food too, just like everyone else.

He motioned her to follow him and he walked into his uncle's office. Charlie hadn't forgiven him for hitting him yesterday and hadn't stuck it under the table. "Ya think yer doing 'ere ya soddin' twat?"

Tommy decided to let it pass and pointed at his open mouth and made circles over his stomach.

"You want food?!" Charlie nearly fell of his chair and even Maria could not hide her surprise.

Still cursing at him under his breath Charlie prepared breakfast; eggs, ham, and bread.

Nobody said anything during breakfast, Maria and Charlie where too shocked to say a word while Tommy ate, actually ate his entire breakfast. It felt good to have something in his stomach other than booze and when Charlie prepped them a cup of tea he ran through his notebook and tapped on the word,  _thanks_.

It left Charlie speechless and if he hadn't been mute he would have told his uncle not to look so moronic.

For the first time in months, Tommy felt like he'd conquered a part of his trauma and combined with his insomnia, he felt ecstatic. His mood was a good contrast with that of Maria's who seemed ready to bawl her eyes at any minute. Another big contrast were their clothes, with Tommy's suit tailored to perfection and Maria's same-old same-old blood stained rags. Not to mention her hair, her long locks where tangled and greasy; even lice would be appalled to live there.

Poverty beamed from every inch of her, not to mention the smell. As his speaker she did not flatter the eyes and he needed that, it would smooth things up with Arthur.

_Where was the last time you had a decent bath?_  He signed to her.

Picking on her food, Tommy realised she'd barely eaten a thing. How the tables were turned today. The lass seemed very aware of her lack of personal hygiene and tattered looks. Miserably she shook her shoulders and ficated her gaze solemnly on her cup of tea.

Tommy growled, this was not going to work with her looking like something the cat dragged in. He snatched the tea out of her hands and motioned her to get up. Unaware of what she might have done wrong she followed him outside and misery seemed to set deeper into her shoes as they passed the stables.

"Where are we going?" she questioned with a whisper but Tommy didn't respond and only motioned her to hurry up.

.-.-.

She died and went to heaven, honestly that was what it felt like when she sank her body into the hot water of Green Lane's bath house. At last, moments of solitude, surrounding by hot cleansing water. No lukewarm temperatures, no whining little sisters, no screaming aunt  _you have FIVE minutes_ , no peeking cousins.

Maria decided she was never going to leave this place. Scrubbing her skin raw with a piece of soap she finally started to recognize her own pale freckly shade from under the dirt. Her hair was a tangled mess, but at least by now a clean mess and besides free soap the public bath supplied items such as brushes and other toiletries.

Splashing water in her face she realised she couldn't smell herself anymore and embedded herself in the fresh scent of lavender.

For the first time in weeks she actually felt clean. Her uncle deliberately cut her off from using the tub. It was his way of making her less appealing to her employers, and tormenting her was just an extra bonus.

Last night had been another episode of her taking blame for things she did not do, just to get it over with. She honestly started to grow callous to the horrible things her uncle spat at her. He must have sensed it because after he threw a few bible verses at her about Maria Magdalena he changed the subject from her to her employer. He called Tommy about every vile thing he could muster and when he asked what she had to say about all that she'd dared to mention Tommy showed her more kindness than her family did.

She shouldn't have said that because it unleashed the devil inside her uncle. He'd yanked her from her chair by her hair and dragged her from the kitchen to the living room. There he made her repeated all vile things she supposedly did as a gypsy whore to her mother and two little sisters. It had been so degrading, she witnessed her mother break down in tears and receive a violent push from her uncle as she tried to pry her daughter free from his hands.

Seeing her mother hit the floor snapped something inside of her. Tormenting her was one thing, laying a hand on her mum was a whole other line he crossed. In the spur of the moment, adrenaline and built up rage from weeks came together and gave her enough strength to attack her uncle. Her nails sank into his cheek before he even realised she yanked lose, a thick pluck of her hair still within his fist.

Baffled by what she had done, she stared at her uncle who towered over her, pressing his hand against his bloody cheek. This time it was her aunt who raised hell and push, pulled and kicked her out into their backyard.

After being viciously called a disgrace to their family she got shoved into the shed and locked up for the night. She had been terrified, it was pitchblack and the place was riddled with spiders and their webs. To prevent herself from freezing to death she went on a blind search to find some blanket or extra clothes.

And that was how she spend the night, shivering and rubbing her hands to stay warm while listening to the rain and thunder ebbed away.

So sitting comfortably in a hot tub all by herself became her new definition of heaven.

When the water started to turn lukewarm and dirty she cursed the fact that she needed to step into her smelly old clothes. Wrapping herself into a towel she crossed the tiled passage towards the dressing rooms.

A few women where undressing and greeted her. Politely she greeted back and walked towards the place she stored her clothes. They were gone. She froze on the spot and felt her heart skip a beat. She looked up and below the bench she used to keep her clothes dry, but they seemed to have vanished into thin air.

"Has anyone moved my clothes?" She asked nervously at the undressing women. They both shook their head and continued gossiping about their neighbor.

Utter panic started to fill up the place of the joy she'd felt seconds ago. Tommy told her firmly he would be back in an hour and that she needed to be ready and set. After his generosity she couldn't fail him, she honestly did not want to think of what would happen to her if he would fire her. She would probably go mad and gladly be send to an asylum by her aunt and uncle.

"Lehman? Anyone here with the name Lehman?" One of the cleaning ladies popped her head around the door. "Anyone?"

"Yes, that's me," Maria muttered surprised.

"Ah, good, it took me forever to find you," the eldery lady huffed and handed her a bag. "I didn't know the Blinders hire lasses nowadays."

The gossiping women all of a sudden fell silent and Maria thought it was wise to keep her mouth shut and quietly took the bag from the lady.

"It'll cost ya," the lady pressed sour-faced and held out her hand.

"Mr Shelby always pays beforehand," Maria informed her matter-of-factly, "you know why? Because no-one dares to deliver bad work." She leaned into earshot and whispered, "because, if not … he will find you."

The cleaning lady stepped back intimidated by her softly spoken words and all of a sudden the other women were done gossiping and hurried to get out of the room.

"Sorry to bother you, Miss Lehman," the lady muttered apologetically and nearly tripped over her own feet to leave.

After the terrible way her family treated her, this little victory made a smile creep upon her face. If the entire residence of Small Heath thought she was a Blinder harlot she better use it to her advantage.

Curiously, she took all the items out of the bag; a navy blue faux wrap skirt, a sailor tie blouse, and even some underwear.

Her cheeks turned bright red as she hooked the bra and stepped into the white knickers. After she dressed, she quickly brushed her hair and wrapped it into a bun. Inspecting herself in the mirror her only flaw was the bruise on her cheek, it obviously showed.

For a moment her eyes fell onto the bag of one of the meddling women and before she knew what she was doing, she rummaged through the contents.

Turning back to face the mirror she rapidly rubbed some rouge on the mark giving her cheeks a rosy colour. It looked slightly less as if she'd been hit in the face the other night.

Retreating barefoot into the main entrance she found Tommy looking immensely bored as his fingers drummed down on the armrest of a white wicker chair. When he spotted her, his icy blue eyes calculatingly ran over her from head to toe. It made her feel incredibly self-conscious, it was the first time in weeks that she was dressed in anything but her working clothes or nightgown.

He threw her old shoes at her feet,  _I didn't know your size_ , he signed and handed her back her bucket hat,  _and_   _let's pretend I never had to fetch you new underwear_ , he added with a smug grin on his face.

To minimize her embarrassment she quickly stepped into her shoes and put on her hat.

_Why do you always wear that hideous thing?_ Tommy asked.

"It's my mum's," she answered, telling only half her reason to keep the hat near her. It contained all her hard earned money, all counts separately sewed into the inside, "it brings me good fortune."

After all his gypsy superstition Tommy didn't question her strange preference of head wear, dropped the issue and notioned her to get going.

_The clothes are my sister's,_  he signed and motioned her to cross the road with him,  _for the love of God and all things you perceive holy, don't fuck them up._ He noticed her look and added,  _you don't think I went dress shopping for you?_ She shook her head and quietly followed him as he continued,  _We're going to meet Arthur again. Your role today is look as lushful as you can and don't hesitate to flatter his ego._ Tommy rolled his eyes as her footsteps slowed down and turned around to face her.

_Look, I'm not asking you to suck his cock. Just play along, wink your pretty eyes every once in a while and don't turn down his drink. Talk directly to him, laugh if he jokes and if possible, marble at his grandeur._

He took a small velvet box from his back pocket and handed her a set of golden ear rings,  _Here, wear these, it'll give you some class._

Maria took the ear rings, painfully aware that her little trip to the bathhouse was to prep her up for the meeting with his brother. For a moment she almost thought he cared for her, but it turned out she simply wasn't sculpted into decent armcandy yet. Utterly reluctant she headed back to the Garrison.

.-.-.

Arthur surprised him by being on time. A vary of bottles where presented by Harry who seemed just as displeased at their presence as Maria.

Another surprise, John showed up as well, clearly very agitated.

"Why take a girl in 'ere but forget to invite the men?" His younger brother snarled and angrily parked his ass next to Arthur, both his brother's where facing him and Maria sat quietly next to him.

Tommy stiffly tapped his cigarette on the ashtray, since when did John have the nerve to question him?

"I recall promising Aunt Pol and Arthur to be his advisor. However, I can't recall asking for your opinion." Maria filled in for him.

John jolted up, wildly motioning on his speaker. "Oh so she's talking for you now? What's next, her pointing your bloody gun?!"

In a blink of an eye Tommy pulled his revolver from between his trousers and pointed directly at his younger brother's face. John gulped and slowly sank back in his seat.

Unhurried he pressed his revolver back and Maria spook for him. "I'm still very capable of pulling the fucking trigger if you'd like to ask, John."

"Brother's," Arthur placed a calming hand on John's shoulder and gave Tommy a stern stare, "we ain't here to fight, but to talk business."

"Yeah, yeah!" Another thing sparked John's rage back up, "let's talk business. Like how you're planning to screw us all over for cocaine. We ain't drug dealers, Tom, for fuck sake, what's gotten into you?"

Okay, if John was keeping up this attitude he was going to strike him in the face.

"Pol ain't like it either!" His younger brother added sourly.

So much for their strong family bond.

"Listen, if none of you are interested in keeping our legacy intact, I might as well fucking go." Maria spoke with not even half of the amount of anger she could have used.

It was time for Arthur to step up his game as the leader of the Peaky Blinders and he slammed down his fist with enough force to make their glasses rattle.

"Aye, you both shut up! Tommy is right about the coppers, you know it John!" Arthur snapped, referring to their boxing ring at Wolfhamptons. "Sooner or later we will lose the place and I'd rather sell it with lots of profit. And the Italians are getting to big for us to swallow. We need to do something."

"I agree!" John snapped back. "But I don't see how dealing cocaine will save us."

"Have I ever made a mistake before?" Maria translated from Tommy's angered motions. "I've taken risks bigger than this one."

"Well yes, but that was before-..." John suddenly paused and fell quiet.

And there it was again, the big out of it's fucking mind mute elephant in the room. With utter frustration Tommy yanked his trademark hat off and turned his head to show his brother his awful scars.

"Say it, John-boy, fucking say it! Before I blew myself to bits?! Before they had to teach me how to take a fucking piss again?! Before I lost my fucking voice? Fucking say it John!" Maria rapitly vocalised his heartache and bluntly addressed the elephant in the room.

His younger brother's mouth dropped into a small 'o' and Arthur carefully tried to ease the tension. "Tom, I don't think John-"

Tommy shot his arm up and gave them his middle finger.

"Fuck you, Arthur, of course he meant it! It's so  _easy_  to judge my decisions. But you weren't there, Johnny-boy. You weren't there with Arthur and me in the trenches, no your ass was all warm and cosy at the cavalry, while we were digging our own graves! You weren't there when they dug me up! You weren't there in the hospital, you didn't show up for weeks! And now you sit there, judging me and crying like a little girl that I didn't invite you to our little tea party. Well fuck you, John, fuck you!"

Tommy didn't think Maria, on her own, would have used so many curses in a month, let out in one breath. She could have sounded more bitter and a lot more aggravated, but it still beat writing everything down.

"If you want to be here, John, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and listen," Maria filled in for him and he directed himself to Arthur. Before continue signing he cracked his knuckles. "Cocaine is our best option Arthur, more and more soldiers head home. Alcohol is one thing, it blurs the nightmares. Opium is another great escape, but cocaine … cocaine is what keeps a man  _going_. It sharpens your senses, loosens your tongue, cocaine is men's new best friend. And friendship is for sale, for a fair price."

There was a soft knock on the door, one Tommy had been waiting for. He snapped his fingers in Maria's direction and motioned for her to get it for him.

Harry presented himself with a silver platter and both his brother's watched surprised as the barman placed the tray down and took off the shiny cover.

Three thick prepped lines of cocaine came in view and Arthur whistled.

"Gentlemen, may I have your attention. This is -first class- Chinese cocaine. Resource? Our local chinese market." His self indulged smirk grin grew wider with the second. When he gave Maria an hour to fetch herself up he'd quickly raced by Watery Lane for some decent clothes and spent the rest of the time bribing one of the young teenagers to sell him some T-O-K-Y-O. What he loved about the Chinese district, nearly no-one spoke proper English so everything needed to be done with body language and a lot of pointing.

Arthur eagerly took out his wallet and rolled a banknote. He snorted half a line and gasped, pinching the bridge of his nose: "Jesus, that's the good stuff." John seemed at least as interested as his older brother and rotated the silver platter.

Sniffing his nose after half a line disappeared he eyed at Arthur and started to laugh, rubbing his gums. "I have to give it to those chinks, they have quality dope."

Tommy pulled the platter his way. Rule number one of a salesman, always have merchandise within arms reach. He winked at Maria and signed,  _Ladies first._

The girl, who'd bravely tried to sip from her whiskey stared at him as a deer struck in headlights. Luckily for her, he was never good with sharing. The drug hit him like thunder, within seconds he felt his heart beat rapidly in his throat and all the cramped up tension and self-doubt disappeared faster then the line of cocaine itself.

And of course this shared drug use asked for a toast. Of course they had to get a second drink to celebrate their restored unity. By the third drink, Tommy mapped out his plan, they needed a step into the Chinese market, someone who could get them in touch with their top dog.

Miraculously enough, John might hold the right card, he once slept with a Chinese metresse who fancied him. She spoke a few words of English and wasn't as reserved as most of her peers. She once mention they all had to pay their parts to the Red Dragon.

With a bit of luck and some of John's shagging, they had one step in. This would speed up the entire process and with his newly found confidence, Tommy felt thrilled to be back in action.

So of course this asked for another drink. And another line, for his own private use in Harry's toilet.

Maybe, just maybe he overdone it. A little, a tat. Staring at himself in the mirror of the men's laventary, with pupils the size of saucers and tunnel vision blurring both his mind and eyesight, he might have let himself go. A little.

His jaws clenched tightly together and he wasn't fully in control of his flexing neck when he sat back with his brothers. He didn't give a damn, not really. He was back in the game, the million dollar man. With or without his voice, he still managed to remain the real Tommy M. Shelby.

It was early in the evening when Arthur called it a day and said he needed to fill Polly in with their great news. John tagged along, counting his money to get his part of the deal 'in action'.

Tommy emptied his drink and glared at Maria who hadn't spoken for herself ever since she sat down next to him. Her drink was still as good as untouched and she still seemed very struck by the free drug and alcohol use that took part in their office.

Wasting a good drink didn't appear in Tommy's books, so he also drained her glass and ordered her to get up. He was going to get her home and maybe head to the Chinese brothel himself. Maybe do a little 'research', he sniggered by his own thought.

It was dark outside and still watery from the night before, the cold and rainy weather did not bother him, he was a million dollar man. Locking his arm with hers, he noticed three young man having a laugh underneath an overhang. They were laughing and pointing.

And this was as he later recalled the moment hell broke loose. It was as if they pulled a switch. They were laughing and pointing. Laughing. And pointing. At him? At him...At him!

And the chemically infused rage that flared up inside of him was beyond reason. Tunnel vision morphed all injustice in the world into the three young man.

Without a doubt he stepped up to the first man, a freckled redhead, maybe in his early twenties.

"Is there a problem?" Freckles asked still sniggering to his closest friend.

Without a second of doubt Tommy collided his fist into the nose of the ginger and kneed him viciously in the groin when his opponent hunched forward.

The tallest of the three was the first to step up for his friend and tried to push him away. He felt the sleeve of his jacket tear and that was another sign he had all right to be this furious. His fingers dug into the face of his new opponent and holding his head in a solid grip he headbutted him in the face. Something broke, Tommy wasn't sure if it was tall guy's nose or front teeth, but by the flailing limbs he knew he knocked him unconscious.

The third guy made a run for it, the fucking pussy. With rage still building up he failed to keep in his sound and he howled like an animal.

Focusing fully back on the moaning redhead he shoved him on his side with his boots. Through squinted green eyes he saw fear, the same fear all those chin up bastards shared.

Tommy looked around and spotted Maria in a state of complete shock.

_Translate,_ he signed at her, nearly falling over from his wildly motioning arms,  _just because I stopped talking, doesn't mean I stopped fighting. This mute will fucking knock your teeth out_. He spat on the ginger on the floor, stepped back to the overhang. With his bare hands he broke off a part of the drainpipe and clenched the irion. He would fucking knock his teeth out.

"Tommy stop! Stop it!" Before he could raise the pipe above his head Maria jumped down to the wounded redhead. "Please, I'm begging you! Stop it, please!" She raised her arms to protect her face, painfully aware she placed herself right in the middle. "Please, don't hurt him anymore! Please  _stop_!"

Her pleads made him step out of his deranged tunnel vision for a moment and with a snarl he tossed the drainpipe at her feet. Fuck her for being fragile, fuck her pleads that sounded painfully familiar, fuck her for making him realise he was his father's split image.

He dragged her to her feet and gave the redhead a last kick in the groin, he could have used more force but his rage changed into something internal. He pulled her away from the crime scene, wouldn't take long for the coppers to be present now. They passed a few allies and as he got his breath back under control Maria tore herself lose from his grip.

"I'm  _done_!" She hiccuped tearfully, "I won't be your puppet any longer! You're a monster, did you see what you've done to that poor man? What you nearly did?" When she didn't receive a sign of remorse she pushed him away. "I won't work for you anymore! It's not worth it!"

Tommy's jaw flexed and with one hand he grabbed her chin and pushed her roughly against the brick wall.

_See that's where you are wrong,_  he signed letting her go but remaining full eye contact,  _you will keep working for me or you won't work at all._

A shiver ran through her body, she took his threat serious but she didn't look away. He didn't know where her sudden courage came from but she was no longer that scared little grey mouse.

"As you wish, Mr Shelby." She spat at him, clipped off the golden earrings to throw them at his feet. "As you wish."

.-.-.

**This was one of the chapters that very sugary. They where getting along just fine, Tommy even for a moment seemed very much a gentleman. But then somewhere halfway the chapter didn't go as planned. Domestic abuse, drugs and a lot of unnecessary violence. Tommy was not suppose to be this much -in lack of better words- of an complete and utter asshole.**

 

**But hey, I still love him and that's what counts, #TeamMuteTommy**  
  
**All kinds of feedback will be very much appreciated**

**xoxox Nukyster**

 

 


	14.  Speechless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was speechless once again.

 

.-.-.

At first, he thought she was taunting him, being deliberately too late. He had ordered Charlie to throw away her breakfast and then got into an argument over it with his uncle. Apparently, he was being extremely and unreasonably harsh on the girl. He didn't agree, not in the slightest. She was his employee and all the members of the Peaky Blinders needed discipline, it didn't matter if they were roughnecked men or a single ignorant girl. Clearly, she still wasn't fully aware of who he was. Or even better, who  _she_ was. Working class, if Polly hadn't sent her to his stables, she'd have spent almost her entire life inside a factory.

She should be grateful for this cherishable job and thank him on her bloody knees. Or at least be on  _fucking time_.

It was a half past seven and the sun was coming up. Tommy's mood turned sourer than Charlie's milk, and he smoked a quarter of his cigarettes before he locked the stables and informed Charlie he was going to Aunt Pol.

.-.-.

Polly was quietly sipping her tea, grateful for the silence inside Watery Lane. Ada was taking Finn to school. The other Shelby's hadn't returned from their nightly activities yet. Although she wasn't thrilled about whatever reckless path her kin had changed to, it was good that the boys had regained their focus.

Silence fled Watery Lane as Tommy bombarded into the living room. The state he was in shocked her. Not only did he look as if he hadn't slept in a week, he was fuming with rage.

_What's her address?_  The note that he slammed down on her newspaper read.

Nerves struck her, had he figured it out? Had he found out she'd been keeping an extra pair of eyes on him? No, he hadn't. Not yet. If he thought she was spying on him he wouldn't have marched in here. He would have gone to Arthur or John.

Her lack of reaction agitated him even more. Wildly he tapped down on the note and growled through gritted teeth.

"Thomas, what's this all about?" Polly asked slapping the note out of her face when he held it up. "Why do you need her address? Please, calm down. I'm not helping you if you're in this state."

Oh, if looks could kill she'd be half way into heaven right now. It took Tommy four very deep and long breaths and a vicious kick against one of the chairs to sit down.

_She didn't show up for work,_  he wrote down with fast and crooked letters.

"You think her uncle did something to her?" She asked.

All the rage suddenly washed from his face and his mouth dropped for a moment before he could morph it back into a blank cold gaze. He shrugged and tapped his pen back on his first note.

"And what are you planning to do if I give you the address?"

Tommy shrugged his shoulders again, intently eying on his first note.

"Thomas, what will you do if you find out her uncle beat her so badly she is in an unfit state to work?"

His eyes coldly flickered up to her and he wrote down,  _Return the favour_. To give his written words more meaning, he slammed his balled fist into his hand.

That was what Polly was afraid of. One thing all her nephews shared was a short temper and a grudge towards domestic abuse. Injustice in general, which might seem odd considering their criminal history. But Maria's uncle wouldn't be the first man to be beaten into bloody pulp for hurting one of their employees. Anyone wearing a trademark flat cap or receiving fee from the Peaky Blinders was automatically under their protection.

"I will walk you to her address, under one condition," Polly pressed firmly, "you let me do the talking."

Tommy chuckled sarcastically, tapped on his Adam's apple and then zipped his lips. Polly cursed herself for picking her words so badly and settled on a more tactful answer.  
"I meant to say, I'll accompany you to her address on the behalf of her uncle. So you won't break both his hands the minute you get there."

Tommy scrunched his lips, calculatedly ran his eyes over her to spot any sign of hesitation. She knew he didn't want her to come along. But when she didn't budge and crossed her arms he quickly raised his thumb up and left the room only to return within seconds with her black coat.

"Can't I finish my tea?" Polly moaned as she was pulled into her coat. Tommy stared at her for a moment, grabbed her cup, shoved it into her hands and pushed her out of the house. Cursing her nephew for his attitude, she threw the cup at his face. He dodged, the porcelain hit the wall, and hot tea bespattered his neatly polished shoes. Polly had to say that gave her some satisfaction.

.-.-.

His aunt insisted that he kept control of his temper and stayed a few feet away from their front door. 'Only be present for intimidation, Thomas, I want to settle this problem tactically, with words.'

Well, of course he would play along. All he really needed was Maria's exact address, the moment he knew where to find her home his aunt's tactical intervention could go to hell if he found her with a black eye or a split lip. Of course, her uncle was the reason she hadn't shown up for work, well the bastard had it coming now.

As cobbled streets turned into mud and soil, Tommy knew they were getting closer and when his aunt stopped in front of a narrow 'two up, two down' house something started to dawn on him. This place felt awfully familiar, but he couldn't place it, not yet.

"Thomas, mind your temper," Polly told him again and he gave her the most angelic smile he could muster. Oh, he was going to raise hell, just to spite her.

When a tall and broad man opened the door Tommy instantly recognized him. For a moment his eyes fluttered to the street sign  _Adlers Street_. Oh, Tommy almost laughed at the twist of fate.

Years ago, one of his Blinders had been shunned from their local Catholic church because 'no nigger should stain their precious house of God.' Well, that member of the Blinders had been Jeremiah Jesus. And Jeremiah happened to have been a close friend of the family ever since Polly joined their gang. The thing was, Jeremiah had vowed his life to God ever since he killed a man in a bar fight. It had been self-defence but Jeremiah had gone to jail. In there he found the good Lord and when he got out he pledged never to pick up a weapon, and to turn the other cheek.

Jeremiah had turned his other cheek and hadn't set another step into the church. Instead he remained in the doorway during the service. His devotion towards God didn't sit well with some of the locals and after one Sunday service a small inner circle had made it clear his presence wasn't wanted by beating him unmercifully. His blood had to be mopped off the marble steps and Jeremiah hadn't been able to eat solids for a month because of a broken jaw.

Of course, this terrible act of violence had to be avenged. Although Jeremiah would never pick up a weapon himself, he was rather keen to point out the bloke who had broken his jaw.

And although Tommy didn't believe in God, he was eager to act as the hand of the Lord Almighty. Or rather, as his fists.

On the first of November, at All Saint's Day, Tommy returned the favour. Along with two broken front teeth. This time, the steps of Saint Michaels didn't turn red, but the muddy road of  _Adler's Street_  did and the following Sunday Jeremiah had the best place near the altar.

Walter Pratt opened the door and paled when he instantly recognised the two early visitors. His mouth dropped into a small 'o' and although he'd grown a moustache the lack of his two front teeth was still very obvious.

"Good morning, Mr Pratt, we're here to collect one of our employees for work," Polly said, pragmatic and civil.

Tommy wanted to slap himself in the face for never pressing Maria to share more details about her family. Of course, they did not share last names as her mother and aunt where relatives. Of course, Walter loathed his niece for working for the man that smashed out his teeth and brought great shame to his family. And of course he needed to make her homelife a living hell.

"She isn't here," Walter lisped, a result of his missing dental work, "she didn't return last night."

Tommy noticed the self-indulgent smirk on the man's face and didn't buy it. But since his aunt was in a much better position to talk to Mr Pratt, he kept in the background.

"Where can we find her?" Polly continued with the same pragmatic tone, but her firmly compressed lips told Tommy she wasn't going to remain civil if her opponent refused to cooperate.

"I don't know, she didn't come home," Walter stated again and looked passed Polly in Tommy's direction, "I figured she'd be spending the night with one of your lot."

And that was the moment even Polly couldn't control him. He spurted passed his aunt, grabbed the taller man by his neck and forced him backwards. Panic instantly spread through the tiny house as the head of the family was slammed into the cabinet and a razor-sharp hat got pressed against his throat.

Tommy could hear two similar cries from two young girls, an older lady started to scream bloody murder, and two pairs of feet ran downstairs. Meanwhile Polly was on his tail and tried to release his opponent from his iron grip.

"Tommy let go! Let go! You are frightening the children!" Polly hissed in his ear.

The terrified hiccups of the two youngsters shredded through his red vision and slowly he turned his head.

On the couch sat a woman with similar characteristics as Maria. The same freckled oval face, eyes, and nose. Clenched against her chest sat two girls, staring back at him through identical blue teary eyes. At the bottom of the stairs two prepubescent boys stood frozen staring at their father being pinned into their cabinet. And to his right, the mother of those two boys still screamed bloody murder.

Polly gestured to the woman to shut her mouth and in a last attempt to lighten their current situation she yanked her nephew back by the hair. The pain in the back of his scalp made him retreat but he still kept a painfully tight grip on Mr Pratt's neck.

"For God's sake where is she!?" Polly spat, throwing all civility out of the window.

Tommy scanned across the room, calculating the actions of the spectators. The boys seemed ready to piss their pants, they didn't pose a threat. The wife, she might drop down in tears or switch back into hysteria. Annoying but understandable. Then his eyes returned to Maria's mother. Although she kept her young girls firmly against her chest Tommy noticed her fingers move. Intently she stared at him and repeated the same motion, she was fingerspelling.

_P-l-e-a-s-e f-i-n-d h-e-r_ , the mum spelled carefully not to put any more focus on her.  _S-h-e r-a-n a-w-a-y._ Pleadingly the woman stared at him,  _p-l-e-a-s-e f-i-n-d h-e-r._

Tommy pressed his cap back on and slowly lowered his hand until it was resting against his hip. With his thumb and ring finger he made a closed circle, signalling an ok to her.

The woman blinked, it was enough for him to know she understood his message.

"I don't know where she is," her uncle repeated, "she's gone and I'd say good riddance!"

It took every bit of Tommy's self-control not to knock another tooth out. If the twin girls weren't already staring at him as if he was some kind of monster, he could easily allowed himself to punch the bastard in the face.

Without further notice, he released Mr Pratt's throat and hooked his arm firmly around Polly's. His aunt didn't see the sudden rush to leave but didn't question him in the presence of the family, which he adored her for. She waited until they were outside.

"What on earth has gotten into you, Tom?" She pressed rapidly, "I thought you wanted to get her back, they might have locked her up in her room."

He shook his head, overhearing how the aunt cursed her husband for getting on the wrong side of the Blinders,  _again_.

_She's not at home, she ran away last night,_ he quickly wrote down in his notebook _, her mother finger spelled it to me when no-one was paying attention to her_ , he explained when Polly gave him a confused look.  _Get Arthur, John, and Johnny Dogs. I want every man of ours to keep their eyes open. I want her back!_

.-.-.

Polly had done all the talking and he'd simply sat there, keeping his jaws clenched and his fists deeply sunken into the pockets of his trousers. He was back at square one, and everybody knew it. He was back at their dinner table, all eyes on him while nobody dared to ask him a direct question. After spending months mainly inside the stables and spiralling down an ever more depressing path it had been an overwhelming surprise to regain his voice. And with it, he quickly recovered his old self and claimed back his rightful place within his family and their business.

He didn't just want her back, he  _needed_ her back in order to function. With her as his speaker he was able to quickly give orders, hand over information to a large group and talk with emotion.

Without her he was back at writing down lines, waiting for the other person to read them over and respond. It took more time and effort, it created distance, and it made him feel weak. His family knew only the very basic of sign language, and half of the city was illiterate. Tommy was painfully aware he was cut off from his most important gift: his voice.

He was speechless once again.

His two brothers and Johnny Dogs left briefly after their meeting to get the word out. Every Blinder would keep his eyes open for the young lass that had been accompanying Tommy during meetings at the Garrison. Her description even ended up on the desks of a few coppers, in case she wound up at the police station.

"Don't worry, they will find her," Polly promised in an attempt to comfort him as the second day went by without a trace of Maria, "a lass can't disappear into thin air. She must be somewhere."

Yes, but where? Tommy nodded grimly at his aunt to get her off his back, and focussed back at the newspaper, searching for any headlines involving a missing girl.

Guilt ate at him, he had failed to get her home safe. After she threw Ada's earrings at his feet she'd run off. And he'd been so incredible hard-headed and angry to let her run. They hadn't been that far away from the block he'd normally dropped her off, as she'd preferred not to be seen with him in the near direction of her house. Which was even more understandable now that he'd found out who her uncle was.

Maybe if he'd calmed himself down and escorted her back safely as he'd done every other time, she wouldn't have run away from home. It was very possible his tyranny during their last moments had driven her over the edge and made her abandon her family and home. It took a lot to leave a home, even a broken one. Tommy knew, he'd fantasised about it often when he was younger. But could never stomach leaving his kin, not even when his father's fists ruled their house.

He waited for his aunt to leave on an errand and tore a note from his book and left it on their kitchen table.

_I'll be at the stables, if you need me._

He left Watery Lane with two full bottles of whiskey.

.-.-.

**Kind of dug your own grave, now did ya Tommy? To gain and to lose again, that must be hard. In my country, Holland, we have a song which is roughly translated as: A man doesn't know what he has, until he loses her.**

**An amen to that,**

**Please leave a review, it will speed up the process of writing next chapter!**

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	15. How the shepherd lost his sheep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was when she knew he had truly paid for her innocence.

.-.-.

It took him a week to find her, by coincidence, because Arthur wanted to blow off some steam. There were only two ways for his brother to blow off some steam; getting piss drunk or getting to a brothel and Arthur was already drunk. Arthur probably had a secret agenda for him to tag along.

Losing his voice for the second time had hit him hard. He found himself back in a nomansland, unable to fully connect. He'd been dwelling inside the stables and drinking himself silly. Although it may seem strange for Arthur to get him to a place you where suppose to drink yourself silly it showed his brother cared for him and wanted to get him out of his isolation.

Tommy drove himself and his already intoxicated brother to the Shepherd, one of Birmingham's more luxurious clubs, but a brothel nonetheless. Even the slowest copper knew the upper rooms were not used for storage. Tommy had been there a handful of times, for both business and pleasure.

"C'mon Tom!" His brother carved down two lines of cocaine on the backside of his leather notebook. "Brighten up a lil'!"

What did he honestly have to lose?

He snorted the first line and didn't give his brother a chance to pull his notebook back, he snorted the other one to; tonight he wanted to demolish all his inner demons with a mixture of booze, sex, and drugs.

The Shepherd had class, the walls decorated with subtitle printed wallpaper. A mixture of wicker and leather seats with a few booths on the window sides. Walking in, they were greeted with a visually stunning display of fine liquor, handmade wine cabinets, and marble decor. At the centre of the wide club was a small stage with exotic dancers, moving to the upbeat dance music. It was crowded for a Sunday night, the atmosphere was wild and tense. Or maybe that was the effect of the two lines he'd taken. He felt his jaws clench and balled his hands into fists, fury started to boil up in his system.

Arthur's drunken tongue did not ease his upcoming mood. His brother was loudly claiming how many whores he was going to fuck and how he was planning to kick in any bastards face who'd tried to stand in his way.

A waitress came over, being scolded by Arthur for serving the Shelby's late. The poor thing excused herself and quickly took the orders Arthur snarled at her.

Tommy kept aside, losing feeling of his upper lip, whatever Arthur had gotten his hands on, it was the good stuff, the expensive stuff. Probably bought it when he accompanied John to his Chinese prostitute.

"We should get ourselves a place like this Tom, not saying the Garrison is any less, but when we get bigger we need places like this!" Arthur observed the dancers and laughed loud. "A place with big tits!"

Tommy nodded dully and watched a brunette slowly unstring her corset. It was after midnight, all illegal activity dared to peep around the corners. Most coppers would be buying customers at this hour of the night, all good christian men were out of sight.

Thick mascara eyes met his all across the room, there was a hint of recognition and the brunette seemed thrilled of having a Shelby as a spectator. She bit her lush lips and carefully dropped her harlet's wear on the floor.

Maybe he would go for brunette tonight.

"Where ta get a drink in this joint?!" Arthur shouted at their waitress, the lass was already serving other people drinks and her tray was packed with glasses.

"I will get someone else, Mr Shelby!" She tried to ease his brother and stared around looking for another working girl. "Scarlet, get over here and serve these fine gentlemen drinks!"

For a moment the club froze up and the music muted, it was  _her,_ Maria. It was no surprise they hadn't found her yet. During the short period of her disappearance she underwent a drastic transformation. He hair had been dyed with henna, giving it a bright copper tint and was cut into a wavy bob, by a butchers knife by the looks of it, locks where unevenly and nervously tucked behind her ear as she picked up empty glasses. Wearing a sleeveless coral red flapper dress and makeup plastering every inch of her face, she seemed so out of her elements it was almost funny.  _Almost_. This was his stable lass? The girl that blushed brighter than a red light by every hint of male attention?

Her thick mascara lashes blinked twice when she turned around to serve their table. Even under the thick layer of rouge Tommy could see her cheeks pale and she dropped the entire contents of her tray.

Even with the music playing the shattering glass was hard to miss. Arthur craned his head to trace the source of the noise, whistled through his teeth by the sight of the young beauty surrounded by broken shards. It took about three seconds before the penny dropped and his brother cursed.

"Fuck, Tom, it's her!"

His words had drastic effect on Maria. The girl swung her tray in Tommy's direction and jolted backwards to take a run to the nearest exit.

But Tommy wouldn't let her get away, not for a second time. Giving the table of his booth an enormous sideway push, he launched forwards. Within three steps he was close enough to clench his fingers around her wrist, before she had a moment to protest he yanked her backwards and shoved her in between Arthur and himself.

"Let me go, I'm working!" She did her best to sound determined but trapped between the two brothers she was scared her to death. "Let me go!"

Oh, how he wanted to slap her in the face and hug her at the same time. Tommy was fully aware that he was staring down at her as a madman. Pupils dilated, breath barely under control from the coke rush and his hand still clutched around her wrist. But he didn't care about her fearful expression, she'd scared him to death, disappearing without a word and leaving him to wonder what happened with her. She'd even made him feel guilty, because mostly bad things happen to pretty little things that ran away from home.

Well, this pretty little thing wasn't going anywhere.

"Tommy, please! Let me go!" She pleaded, trying to extract herself from their booth.

But he yanked her back onto the seat,  _whore_ , he mouthed and pinned her arm forcefully back into the leather cushions.

For a moment her fear changed into venom, he'd stabbed her deeply in her pride. "I'm a waitress, I'm not a-"

Tommy banged his free fist down onto the table,  _whore_! Was she really this naive? Everybody knew The Shepherd and it's infamous owner; Silvester Russo. The Italian made his fortune in his early thirties and let's say his money didn't just come from selling drinks to thirsty mouths. No, Russo made his imperium by selling sex. The younger the better, or oriental. Does the buyer have a weird quirk or a dominant preference? No worry, the Shepherd had enough flock to fill up every kind of need. Russo would lure girls in, promising them the world and then slowly hooking them on cheap narcotics. In a matter of weeks Russo had them working upstairs.

And that thought really made him want to slap her across the face.

Tommy shot his eyes to his brother and drew a short line on the table.

Arthur reacted slow, questioning his younger brother's motives but replied by prepping a line of coke. He snorted the whole damn thing and took out his notebook, still not releasing his iron grip around Maria's wrist.

_Get more cocaine_ , he wrote down and showed the note to Arthur, gesturing in the directions of the men's room, the cheap stuff was always easy to find.

Arthur took of, leaving him with his re-found -rather cheap looking- voice. She didn't seem very content about her regained job, and was still dead set to flee at any given opportunity. His reenactment of the night she ran away probably didn't do him any good.

Fuck, he could feel his hands twitch and tremble. Tommy wasn't sure where it came from, the alcohol or the drugs, but it was inevitably noticeable for the both of them. What in the world was he doing?

He needed to get out, get a fresh breath of air and clear up the mess inside his head. Without further notice he got up, pulled her up by her arm and walked into the crowd.

As the proud owner of Small Health's most luxurious club-slash-whorehouse, Silvester Russo always kept a keen eye on his flock. Tonight was not any different and Russo crossed them in the middle of the club.

"Mr Shelby," the plum Italian always had a self-indulgent feel about himself and addressed him short. Although their families did not hold a grudge against each other, they where no allies. Tommy despised the way Silvester made his fortune and post-war would never put that opinion under the table. Russo on his turn, looked down on Tommy's background, to him the Blinders where all gypsy scum, nothing more, nothing less.

"What are you doing with the newest member of my herd?" The Italian asked, running his finger through his slik, skillfully combed hair.

Tommy finally released Maria from his death grip, knowing she would not run with her new boss in plain sight. And he knew he wouldn't get her out with the Italian in plain sight.

He drew out his wallet and took out a few bills. He raised up the index finger of his right hand,  _One hour._

Maria's mouth dropped from utter shock. Russo noticed but didn't care, his empathy didn't go further then his customers.

"The bella is new, first timers are double," The Italian stated, extracting his hands to collect the extra fee.

Tommy took out three more bills and slammed it down in the man's greedy hand and grabbed Maria firmly by the shoulder.

When he dragged Maria further through the club she did not resist, still in shock of the deranged trade that happened right in front of her. Maybe she hoped he would lead her through the main doors, as a knight in shiny armour, get her out of this wicked place. She allowed him to push her through the searing crowd until they reached the stairs. That was when she  _knew_  he had truly paid for her innocence.

"No! NO!" She shouted, overruled by the music. Tommy didn't respond and yanked her up the first few steps. She drew back, tried to lunge at him. Tactically, he caught her fist and twisted her arm on her back. Being ex-military, she was no match for him, he'd overpowered men twice her size during battle and as a born and raised thug knew all the dirty tricks in the book.

With her resultless screaming for help he dragged her up the stairs and opened the door at the far end of the first flook.

The room was damp, used, and cheap, fulfilling it's duty without any form of luxury. It was more than enough, during drinks most men wanted to feel wealthy. But during paid sex, all civilery remained downstairs, all they wanted was be in control at that point.

He shoved her in and closed the door. With her blue teary doo-eyes she stared at him, still with a shimmer of hope.

"Please Tommy, don't do this to me,  _please!_ "

He didn't even acknowledge her and coldly took off his shirt. It was right then and there where she knew he would not let her go. He knight in shiny armour was no better than the beasts that she'd been serving drinks to.

Plain and simple instinct took over, for her it was flight or fight and since he was blocking her only exist he left her with no other option. She fought as a wild cat trapped in a corner when he grabbed her by the waist and threw her on the bed. She tried to winch away but had no space to go. He pushed her down by her shoulder and moved onto the bed, straddling her.

Maria's eyes filled themselves with fear as her assaulter locked his knees forcefully against her hips. She cried out in distress and lunged at him, her nails dug into the skin of his collarbone and drew blood. The stinging pain made him pause for a moment and he had to give it to her, she was a fighter when she was pushed to her limits, no flight, just  _fight_.

The used bed creaked by the shifting of weight when he snatched both her hands and pinned them up against the headboard of the bed. Leaning forward to keep her hands in place they where close, noses almost touching, her rabit and shallow breathes tickled his lips and he could feel trembled run up and down her body.

She was utterly overpowered and she knew it. Squeezing her eyes shut she tried to kick and spat at him, tugging with her arms to get out of his powerful grasp.

He grunted frustrated by her actions and rubbed his chin over his shoulder to get rid of her saliva. With his free hand he took a good grip on her short hair and yanked her head back into the pillow. She cried out in pain and her tens motions relaxed for a mere second.

He used that moment to shove each of her wrists under his knees. Her sleeveless dress already exposed half of her chest, a flaky pink bra showed off her humble breasts. Yanking the coral fabric down further he shoved her head deeper into the pillow. By now her makeup was no more than smudges of red and black, running down her cheeks. With squeezed shut eyes she cried out one more time, gritted her teeth and used all her remaining strength to wiggle her limbs from under him.

He was in complete and utter control. Keeping a firm grip on her head he stared down at her useless motions with cold and distant eyes. After another toss and turn her weaker body failed and her muscles relaxed from exhaustion.

"Do it, get it over with!" She whispered sobbingly, waiting for the worst to happen.

By now the cocaine rush headed it's peek, with jaws still clenching and sweating like a madman he let go of the firm grip he held on her head and he sat back on top of her. It took her five long seconds before she dared to look through her mascara lashes.

_Is this what you want for the rest of your life?_  He signed to her from above.  _Because this is exactly what you're getting for the rest of your life._ He pulled her dress back up, covering her bra and leaned back a bit, allowing her some space and let her regain the use of her hands.

Maria drew her hands protectively to her chest as tears streamed down her face. Unable to speak she could only stare at him, questioning his motives.

_Why the fuck did you ran away?!_ He signed, his coke indulged fury getting the best of him.  _Why did you come here to be someone's whore?!_  He smashed his fist into the headboard, the wood cracking in the process.

_You are coming with me,_ he informed her not giving a damn what she had to say about the matter. He got off the bed, yanked his shirt from the floor and pulled it on, the blood from four fingernails staining the fabric. When he looked back at the bed she hadn't moved an inch, still in a state of shock. And that pissed him off beyond words.

_Get up!_ When she failed to respond in time he swung her up by her shoulders and got her on her feet. He opened the door and halfway down the stairs noticed she was missing one of her heels.

As a good shepherd, Russo was waiting for his new sheep to return to it's master. He was not please with the state of his new employee and halted Tommy when he got down.

"Mr Shelby, this is no way of using other man's merchandise!" He spat and added a few curses in his mother tongue.

The fusion of cocaine, rage, and alcohol whispered to him to simply take out his gun, aim just above Russo's hooked nose and pull the trigger. Luckily Arthur stepped in as a angel on his right shoulder.

"Tommy,  _don't,"_  His brother whispered in his ear from behind and took his wrist in a death lock to prevent him from pulling his gun. Rationality made him keep his rage inside, but he could feel himself close to snapping. He could feel his heartbeat race inside his chest and his subconscious, the layer beyond all logic, screamed at him to fight, fucking  _fight_. Like back in the trenches, below the mud. No time for thinking, just  _fight. Fight!_

"The lass is coming with us," Arthur informed Russo as well as a resurrance to his younger brother.

Russo saw Tommy's expression and knew his opponent's history. Calculated he turned towards Arthur. "That will cost you."

The oldest of the Shelby's took out his wallet and tossed the content down on the table: "This should be enough, for everything."

Russo's brows furrowed staring at the large amount of money slammed down on the ebony wood. "Everything?"

"Aye,  _everything_!" Arthur repeated, snatched Tommy's gun from between his belt and hit the nearest manon the back of his head with the barrel.

The Shepard turned into a rampage, the first man dropped down unconscious from Arthur's blow. His friends where immediately on their feet for serious repercussions and threw themselves on Arthur.

Tommy, already half crazy from utter fury could not take a second of his brother being struck and unleashed his inner demon. Berserk, like a man possessed, he yanked a stool from under someone's arse and slammed it down on the biggest opponent. He hit him on the back, between the shoulderblades. It took him a second swing to get him off of Arthur and broke the wooden frame by the third hit.

Arthur laughed diabolically seeing his brother back in action and bashed his knuckles into the face of a seven feet long drunk.

Their actions didn't go by unnoticed. The music stopped, the dancers screamed, and heads got turned. Within seconds the club was all up its feet and more fighters ready to mingle. In an obscure club as the Shepherd a spark was enough for an explosion and Tommy felt ready to torch the entire place. He spat in someone's face, collided his knuckles with someone's jaw and threw a porcelain vase over the counter. A large number of expensive line of liquor smashed down on the floor, the bartender diving behind his counter.

Tommy could have been kicking and swinging until the early morning but Arthur thought they had done enough damage.

"We're going, Tom!" Arthur drew his brother of a sorry sod bleeding on the floor and dragged him on his feet. Tommy shoved him off, sprinted back at his last victim and screamed loud when Arthur wrapped his arm around his neck.

"Tom, let go, we're going!" Got hissed in his ear, his brother's bicep cutting of his oxygen. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and screamed again not caring if he sounded like an animal because that was exactly what he felt like. An animal, just fight, fight and  _go_!

"Get yourself together!" Arthur voice now shouting in his ears, a guideline to stay in control. "Christ, Tom, we are going  _now_!"

Unable to escape from his brother's suffocating grip he got shoved through the spectacle. By now half of the club was using their fists. Halfway through the exit Arthur spun Maria on her feet who'd been hiding behind a fallen down table.

Tommy got pushed passed the main doors, out into the cold and finally was granted to inhale. Coughing and spitting he sank through his knees and tried to get his breath under control.

""Keys, keys, get the bloody  _keys_!" Arthur shouted and impatiently snatched the keys out of his brother's pockets when he was trying to get back on his feet.

Arthur shoved both his brother and the shivering girl towards their car, yanked the backdoor open he pushed Maria inside. Slamming her door shut he drilled his eyes into Tommy's. "Are you fit to drive?!"

Tommy stared at his twitching fingers and figured he would likely drive them into the nearest street light. He shook his head.

Arthur cursed out loud, kicked against the wheel and pointed at the car. "Well, I bloody ain't walking!"

Tommy got shoved into the passenger's seat and Arthur, a little shaky and very unfit to use any kind of vehicle in this state, sat down in the driver's seat.

Their ride away from the Shepherd remained in utter silence. Arthur fully focussed on his driving skills and Tommy rubbed his face, trying to regain control back over his rage.

Maria got sick all over the backseat after Arthur zigzagged through the mainstreet and earned a fair amount of curses and honks from passing cars.

"Where are we going with this one anyway?!" Arthur spat staring angrily through his rearview mirror at the nauseous, terrified, girl.

Tommy dusted of the coke from his notebook and wrote down,  _Charlie's Yard, I don't want her at the house_.

In all honesty, now that the rage was washing away he didn't know what to do. Peeking over his shoulder he watched her crying in the back of the car. Dress covered with puke stains, bra showing, hair a mess and her make up everywhere but her face.

Arthur leaned over, tilting his head towards his. "You didn't rape her, did ya?"

His brother earned a hard slap on the back of his head for thinking that low of him.

"I take that as a no," Arthur muttered rubbing the sore spot.

Tommy grunted affirmative and did not grant his brother another gaze during their ride.

"What am I going to do with the bloody car?!" Arthur snapped repulsed when opened the backseat. The lights at Charlie's yard where dim but even with the humble amount of light it was clear the interior of the car was ruined.

Tommy scrunched his shoulders, the ruined material the least on his mind. Arthur cursed again, shoved his brother out and tried to politely ask Maria to get the hell out of the sodding car.

Frantic, she did was being told and shivering stepped down on familiar grounds, her dress torn and one foot bare.

"See you tomorrow Tom, mind you will pay for the fucking costs!" His brother said as a goodbye and drove off.

_Will you walk with me or do I need carry you?_  Tommy signed down dryly. Maria did not reply but followed his footsteps as a lamb walking into the slaughterhouse. Questioning his motives she paused on the doorsteps of the stable.

Hesitant himself he started to realise what he'd been capable of. Now that the cocaine rush had ended it's peek, cold facts struck him like a sledgehammer. He'd wronged the Italian in his own house, which was a high offence. And he'd claimed their merchandise, didn't matter that she was a person of flesh and blood and her own free will.

There would be serious retributions on their behalf and Tommy made a small prayer that Arthur truly did mediate with the Lee clan, soon they would need all the help they could get.

Then it dawned to him what is brother had asked,  _You didn't rape her, did ya?_

He'd been absolutely offended of the dishonourable offence, but when he fixed his eyes on Maria he could understand his brother's suspicions. She looked more fragile than she'd ever been. The dress that hours ago, had made her look chique and available, hung loosely and torn around her frail body. She'd kept her eyes on the ground but was aware of every move he made and flinched with he came in reach.

God, he felt tired, his body drained from narcotics and alcohol started to feel the damage. During the bar fight he'd received a good few punches in the face and he could feel his jaw and knuckles throb painfully. His back arched from a pair of firm boots being firmly planted between his shoulder blades and his throat felt sore from when Arthur choked him.

_Clean yourself up_ , Tommy signed and pointed at a half filled bucket of water. Without a word Maria sank to her knees and washed off the largest amount of makeup, distancing herself further from being a harlet. She looked so young but lost her shimmer of innocents.

'This city does that to a person,' Tommy thought wry and then realised, 'We do that to a person.' The Peaky Blinders left their mark on anyone that crossed their path, calculated of either using or abusing their victim. 'I do that to a person.'

He tapped on the ladder connecting to the stable's upper floor,  _You can sleep upstairs, we'll talk in the morning. Do not try to run away!_ He warned her. Without a question Maria shakenly climbed the wooden steps.

Locking the stable in case she'd be foolish enough to cross him again he heard her soft weps coming from the attic.

A grunt escaped from the back of his throat, she could have had it so much worse. In retrospect he could have dealt with the matter far less aggressively, but he chose to ignore that part. He got her back, that was what mattered, although he knew she feared him now, he'd seen it in her eyes. The utter realisation of his overpowerment had struck her deeply; he could have his way with her whenever he wanted. No-one would bother to stop him. After all, he was Mr Shelby member of the notorious Peaky Blinders gang and nobody dared to cross him, not for a simple working class lass.

That made him slightly ill to the stomach, intimidating any girl in such way was not who he was. He could be a brute to men, unconcerned about the the pain his fist would cause. But he'd never lay a hand on a woman or child, it was not in his nature to hurt the weaker. Tonight his rage had taken the best of him and he'd done her wrong.

Possessiveness and betrayal had made him see red when he'd dragged her up the stairs and threw her on the bed. The whole farquaad that followed had been to teach her a lesson. In a way she'd been lucky he was the one paying for her first hour, but he highly doubted she'd see it like that.

.-.-.

**A/N I wrote most of this chapter months ago and I like how it all worked out. I really wonder, what did you think was going to happen when Tommy paid for her? Please share your thoughts. Next chapter might take some time, I haven't written it down yet and I'm still a little puzzling how to put everything together. Reviews do help to speed up that process.**

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	16.  Early morning regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're coming with me and I swear to God if you try to escape I will fucking break your legs.

 

.-.-.

Tommy hadn't slept, the chemicals in his body didn't allow him a moment of rest. It kept his thoughts loping like a racing horse. He'd spent the remaining of the night inside Precious and Monaghan Boy's box staring at the ceiling. The young horse must have sensed his dread and nuzzled his snout against his check. Precious kept him company for most of the time.

When the sunlight creeped through the cracks of the stable, Tommy decided it was time for some drastic action. He'd been breaking his head on how he was going to deal with Maria. Still indecisive he climbed up the steps.

His heart skipped a beat as his icy blue's stared into a shaking barrel,  _fuck_  silently escaped his lips. She found his revolver.

With her legs huddled up against her chest and both hands clutched around the weapon Maria stared intently at him, eyes still as bewildered and alarmed as yesterday. Clearly she hadn't spent her time in the attic sleeping. Slowly her trembling fingers pushed the barrel up, directing at his head.

'Oh  _fuck_ ,'Tommy thought. Guarded and focusing on her face instead of the trembling barrel he raised his right hand in defence and with his left slowly made little circles on his chest, the sign for  _sorry._ Fingerspelling he continued,  _f-o-r l-a-s-t n-i-g-h-t_.

Her eyes narrowed and with a trembling but very clear voice she whispered, "Don't come any closer. I will shoot you."

That did not sound very promising, but during his life Tommy had been staring into multiple barrels and apparently he was like a cat, he had nine lives. Testing his luck Tommy took a small, gradual step forward.

Her thumb pressed the hammer back. "Don't come any closer, I  _will_ shoot _,_ " she warned him again.

 _N-o y-o-u w-o-n-t,_ he spelled with his left hand, still keeping his right up as a white flag. He really hoped she would not pull the trigger, although he'd given her all reasons too. Right now he didn't have anything to bargain for so he needed to rely on his soldier's instinct and her goodness within her Catholic heart;  _thou shalt not kill_ , well he fucking hoped so.

He took another calculated step forward and it struck her nerve. Her hands quivered for a moment but then solemnly took a new aim. She placed the barrel of the gun against her chin and whispered, "father forgive me."

Tommy cried out and lunged forward when he watched her index finger press the trigger. Too late, he was too late!

But instead of a loud bang, blood splashing against the ceiling and her lifeless body dropping back on the bed, there was just a single  _click_.

Utterly relieved he realised she hadn't checked for bullets and all seven were still

safely hidden underneath a loose plank underneath his mattress.

He was just in time to dodge the unloaded weapon as she threw it in his direction and caught her fist when she swung at him. Last night still fresh in his memory he tried to overpower her without causing too much force. She must have sensed his hestitance and used it in her favor, colliding her free fist with his nose. It wasn't a hard punch but given the beating his face received the night before it was enough to make him cry out and winch back. Blood rapidly ran down his nostrils making Maria gasp in shock, she clearly didn't think she would cause so much harm.

Oh Tommy was glad his two brothers weren't there, the sight of him being struck by a harmless lass would be enough to have them rolling over the floor howling with laughter.

With the few seconds he used to keep his blood from gushing down his nose, Maria jumped off the bed and headed towards the ledge.

'Oh no you won't,' Tommy let the blood ran freely and speeded after her. Before she could set her second foot on the ladder he intertwined his fingers around her short hair and brutally pulled her back up, causing her to cry out and lunge back at him.

After a small hustle Tommy decided that maybe this business was 'women business' and could be dealt better by Aunt Poll. Hell, he was probably the worst person to try and fix their current situation. His left arm served as a straightjacket, wrapped firmly around her body and arms to keep her from escaping or hitting him. With his right he pinched the bridge of his nose to lessen the stream of blood.

Clearly today was not his day, nor month, nor year.

"Let me  _go_!" Maria shouted and squirmed to get out of his tight grip. Tommy gave her a hard push back on the mattress and stepped in front of the ledge.

"You can't keep me locked up in here!" Maria spat at him with eyes throwing daggers.

Tommy rolled his eyes, her statement was very arguable. He, in fact, could keep her locked up in here, against her will and nobody would try to stop him. Hell, no-one besides Arthur and himself knew she was here. But since he wanted to mellow down their deteriorating relationship he kept that knowledge to himself.

 _Do you want to get fucked on a dirty mattress, in a dirty room by a dirty git for the rest of your life?_  He signed stoic at her and continued when she closed her mouth and bit her lip,  _because with that pretty face of yours and no safetynet, that's exactly what your life will be. A quick fuck for a penny. You think I was rough on you last night, hell that was nothing, not even the tip of the fucking iceberg._

Maria crossed her arms tightly against her chest, probably reliving the moments of hope changing into fear and despair. Of being forced down, stripped from all rights and privileges and being used as nothing more than a thing, a tool for sick fucks to get off on.

 _What would your mum think?_  This struck a nerve and quickly she threw her face down. Tommy took the moment of her absent eyes to observe her; she was an absolute mess. Hair all knotted and filthy, her dress scattered around her body, torn and wrinkled. Her bra kept showing and she still missed one shoe. He sighed and dug into the trunk in the far corner. He had a few spare shirts laying around somewhere and probably a pair of socks.

 _You're not going to be someone's whore_ , he ordered her and threw a shirt at her. She caught it stiffly and pulled it over her head to cover her low cleavage. When offered, she pulled a pair of socks on her freezing feet.

 _You're coming with me and I swear to God if you try to escape I will fucking break your legs_ , Tommy informed her coldy.

.-.-.

It must have been a bizarre sight for the residence of Small Heath;  _The_  Tommy Shelby, heading through the streets at the break of dawn. Accompanied by a red-headed lass on a horse wearing Tommy's long overcoat and socks. One looked more beat up then the other. Tommy's shirt was splattered with blood stains and every now and then whipped over his upper lip to ridden himself from the drips of blood coming from his nose.

The lass solemnly refused to look anywhere but her clenched fist wrapped around the horse's manes and shivered from cold.

Tommy was glad when he ended the walk of shame and tied the horse at a lamppost near his home in Watery Lane. Gesturing for the lass to dismount Rockefeller, Tommy quietly turned the keys and opened the door.

Of course, his kin had planned a fucking family meeting at six in the morning…

The faces of Aunt Poll, Finn, and Ada where priceless. His sister literally stopped taking a bite of her toast in mid air.

Arthur must have informed his younger brother, John, about last nights whereabouts because John didn't seem very shocked, delighted would be a better word to pick. Tommy received a small nod from John who appeared very proud that he'd joined Arthur in a bar fight. Just like back in the good old days.

Silence still kept the small family gathering in its grip. It was Ada who cut through the painful silence as Tommy and Arthur examined the other's facial cuts and bruises.

"Well look what the cat dragged in…" his sister muttered sarcastically and lowering her toast to watch the two early guests.

For moments like these Tommy would love to sow his sister's lips together, but right now Ada's rattling mouth could be of good use.

"Oh God, Thomas, what happened to your face?" Aunt poll exclaimed.

Confessing to his entire family that the lass had beat him a bloody nose less than half an hour ago wasn't on Tommy's to do list. Ignoring his aunt's question he directed himself to Ada and wrote a short note,  _Calm her down, lock her in my bedroom._  His sister read the note, exchanged gazes and knew better then to ask questions.

"Follow me please." Ada tended towards the strange younger girl and both headed up the stairs.

"For fucks sake, Tom!" Polly shouted and slammed her hand on the table. "What on earth were you thinking?! Did you really abduct her from Russo?!"

 _Well, technically I stole her back,_  he wrote down and watched how his aunt ripped the note and threw it at his face after she was done reading.

"Idiots!" Polly hissed through gritted teeth and accusingly pointed at Tommy and Arthur, "You go out  _one_  night together. One damn night!"

It was frightening how Polly's eyes could make a grown men fill up with guilt. As a lectured child Arthur stared at the tips of his boots and Tommy kept himself firmly occupied with a search for his cigarettes.

"So what's the master play now boys?" Polly snarled, "you got your voice back, God knows what you've done to her, not to mention you two practically wrecked the Shepherd. But you've got her back, bravo Thomas!" She spat and gave a cold round of applause.

John tried to back his brother's up and muttered, "They didn't wreck the place, I've seen it. It was just a bar fight Pol, no need to worry so."

Polly seemed ready to make her nephew choke on his toothpick and fired at him, "No need to  _worry_?! Those two fools single handedly ruined whatever truce we had with the Italians! Do tell me John, what would you do if those gangster came in our Garrison and caused mayhem?"

"Shoot them through the bloody kneecap," John answered honest and sighed aware of the upcoming trouble.

"Exactly!" Polly shot back, "so what will it be boys? Will we be sitting ducks?" She directed herself back at Tommy. "Please allow me to marvel at your masterplan, Thomas, because it must be a fucking good one!"

Tommy's jaw clenched, so he made one mistake and got out of line? He fucked up, she made her point clear. Very clear.

Ada retreated back into the kitchen and said with a chin-up attitude, "I've locked your little damsel in distress in your bedroom. Poor thing needs a bath, you probably need to change your sheets." Frisky she sat down at their kitchen table and continued, "I gave her some of Arthur's special coughing medicine, that'll knock her out for a few hours."

Tommy gave her a quick nod of the head, pleased with his sister's street-smart management.

"So what did I miss?" Ada asked eagerly and looked across the room at the heated faces of her kin.

Pol venomously informed her niece about the idiocy of her brother's and started to drill up all previous accusations.

Tommy growled and pushed his chair back, he wasn't going to listen to another round of Polly's bickering. He made a massive mistake, he got that, no need to keep rubbing it in.

There was a soft knock on the door as he headed into the hallway, cautious he opened their front door, his revolver already pulled from the back of his trousers.

A young boy with olive coloured skin and silky black curled hair stood on their doorstep.

"Mr Russo and Mr Changretta will meet you at the Garrison at four," the boy informed him politely and tottered off.

 _FUCK_ , Tommy slammed the door shut. Fuck...they had the Italian mob on their ass. Silvester was a distant cousin of the Changretta's and teamed up. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Tommy banged his fists into the wall and bit through the throbbing pain as he resolutely spun on his heels to meet with Arthur.

His brother became white as a ghost when Tommy wrote down the message from the boy.

 _We need a plan,_  Tommy continued on paper,  _fast!_

Both men stood across each other facing facts, their ridiculously stupid escapades from last night might get them -and their family- killed.

Polly snatched the note from Arthur and gasped horrified.

"What's wrong?" Ada asked still unaware of the upcoming danger, "you never tell me anything!"

John was the next in line to read Tommy's message and gulped when he lowered the paper: "Ada, Finn, go upstairs and stay here. Do not leave the house at any circumstance!"

"Why?" Ada snapped back, "at least tell me why I can't go out! I was planning to see a movie today and-"

"-Ada, Finn,  _out!"_ Arthur threw at her with so much fury their sister closed her snappy mouth quietly and retreated upstairs with Finn.

 _We need guns and men_ , Tommy wrote down, mind racing. Fuck, they should have never gone to The Shepherd, they shouldn't have done so much cocaine. Fuck, they  _definitely_  shouldn't have trashed the place up with Russo in eyesight.

 _Get Johnny Dog's and his men, station them inside the Garrison incognito, but arm them to the teeth_ , Tommy wrote down. If the Italians wanted them dead they wouldn't do it in the open. No, that wasn't their style, Tommy hated to admit it, but the gangsters had class. They wanted to do their talking and then mold them to bits with a machine gun.

 _Get men on the roof, get Harry to take the afternoon off and replace him with Scudboat_ , he ordered Arthur _, hurry!_  He underlined when his brother did not jump into immediate action.

Fuck….Tommy rubbed through his face as Arthur left in a hurry. Fuck, fuck fuck!

.-.-.

**Wow, so how many holes has Tommy dug for himself in the last few chapters? A lot, hopefully enough deep enough for a funeral. Nah, just kidding...or am I? Oh I'm so thrilled writing this story!**

**A penny for your thoughts,**

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	17. Masseto from Tuscany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never give a promise I can’t keep,

 

 

.-.-.

 

“I hope you are very pleased with yourself!”    
  
Maria woke up in a flash, blinked a few times to clear the fogginess from her head and searched for the person whom the voice came from.    
  
“Two of my brother’s have hurried off, one is brooding downstairs and ruining the carpet with his pacing. Meanwhile, Aunt Pol is drinking her panic away and I’m forced to babysit Finn and I’m missing my afternoon movie!” A teenage girl, a little older than herself snapped at her. She leaned against the doorframe at the doorway and her hands crossed at her chest, amplifying her sulky expression. 

  
“And  _ of course _ nobody will tell me anything. Silly little Ada, too young to deal with family business. Well I am part of this bloody family!” Sighing deeply she pushed herself off from the wood and walked towards Maria. “Hi, I’m Ada. Ada Shelby.” 

  
Groggy and hesitant, Maria took the other girl’s hand and stammered. “Maria Lehman.” 

  
“Maria,” Ada repeated her name solemnly and hummed, “don’t tell me you’re Tommy’s new fling.” Eying her up and down almost as calculated as her brother she continued. “You are definitely  _ not _ his type.” Ada didn’t seem to care about Maria’s personal space and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are you a whore?”    
  
“I am  _ not _ a whore!” Maria growled aggravated. Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes and although she tried to keep it all in, her lip started to quiver. Honestly, why did this entire city mark her as something so vile and tainted? Ever since she’d set a foot in Small Heath her reputation had been spoiled.    
  
“Well, you sure do look like one.” Ada pinpointed cattish. 

  
That was the final straw. A floodgate of tears started to poor down Maria’s cheeks and she buried her face into the pillow. Grief, sorrow, pain, betrayal, fear, every emotion she’d desperately tried to keep down for weeks came pouring out.    
  
It wasn’t fair, her life had turned into hell and every time she thought it couldn’t get worse there was a new rock bottom. Every time she’d turned her cheek and prayed for a simple bit of comfort reality found another way to beat her down again. In the course of months she had to bury her brother and father. Her home burned down and she had to leave her hometown to live in a cramped up house in the middle of this godforsaken city. The first positive thing that happened to her, finding a too-good-to-be-true- job had haunted her from day one. She’d been terrorised for weeks by her uncle for simply being a good worker. And all for what? Why didn’t she simply vanish into thin air, she was letting everyone she cared for down anyway. She recalled switching the revolver from Tommy to herself because in the spur of the moment she didn’t see a better way out. 

  
“Hey, I’m sorry ok?” Ada awkwardly patted her on the shoulder, “you’re not a whore. Not that it would matter anyway. Stop crying.” 

  
“I wish I could just disappear!” Maria finally exclaimed her heartfelt feelings, “I can’t take it anymore! Everywhere I go I make everything worse!” Sobbing hysterically into the pillow she tried to get her breath under control. “I thought running away would fix everything, but it just doesn’t, it doesn’t!” 

  
“Hey now, don’t ruin Tommy’s pillows. Not that it matters much, he doesn’t sleep at the house anyways,” Ada added under her breath and pulled the pillow away from Maria’s face. “Why did you run away in the first place?” 

  
With a little quiver Maria started to speak. “My uncle wants me out of the house but couldn’t simply kick me out without failing his Christian duties,” she spat with as much venom as she could muster. “He told me he was arranging a marriage, ready to sell me off to the highest bidder so he would be rid of me … Not that he would earn much, given my reputation...” She paused for a moment, fighting back the hiccups. “I made my father two promises before he went to France. The first one was to take care of my mum and sisters. And the second one was to marry a man he would be proud of … I highly doubt my uncle has the same standards,” she added bitterly and sniffed. “I just let everybody down, my mum, my sisters. Everything I do only makes things ten times worse. I just wanted to escape. I thought that maybe if I disappeared my uncle would be kinder to my mum and threat my sisters better. I didn’t know what else to do!” She gulped. “My entire family thinks that I’m earning my fee by laying on my back...My uncle even spat on me.” 

  
For what it was worth, it felt good to get everything off her chest. Maybe the sister of her abducter wasn’t the finest pair of ears, but Maria wasn’t in the position to be picky. 

  
Ada hummed and quirked her nose up, ruffling a few wrinkles out of the tear stained pillow. “I think you could use some more of Arthur’s coughing medicine.” 

  
Before Maria had time to disagree Ada poured her a tablespoon full of thick sticky liquid. 

  
“It’ll take the sharp edges off,” Ada told her firmly and tapped the spoon against the tip of her lower lip. “Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” 

  
Maria did vaguely recall falling in a deep and relaxing slumber after her previous intake of the substance. Reluctant she opened her mouth and swallowed the bitter syrup. 

  
“What on earth did you do to your hair?” Ada asked and pulled softly at her butchered locks. 

  
“I dyed it with henna and cut it off.” Maria informed her awkwardly pressing a few loose strings behind her ears. “I figured your brother would try to find me so I changed my appearance.” 

  
“ _ Drastically _ , I’d say…” Ada huffed. “Did you use a butchers knife or something? Honestly even the girls in the poorhouse have a better haircut.”   
  
“No, I bought a pair of scissors.” Maria answered. “But I didn’t have a lot of time.” Running her fingers through her uneven hair made her realise the extent of her hasty decision. The city truly did take everything away from her, even her treasured long hair.  

  
“I can cut it for you, if you’d like.” Ada mentioned trying to unknot a tangled lock. “I’m learning to be a hairdresser, I’ve even cut all my brothers.” 

  
Maria debated if that was actual good advertisement but was also painfully aware her hair couldn’t look any worse than the current state it was in. “If-... if you wouldn’t mind,” She mumbled to the strangely energetic girl. She knew Tommy’s had brothers, but he never mentioned having a sister.    
  
“I would not!” Ada clapped her hands and pulled the blankets off of her. “But you should shower first, you reek of hangover and regret. C’mon let's make a real flapper girl out of you!”  

 

.-.-.

 

As convicted men walking to the gallows, Tommy and Arthur dragged themselves towards the Garrison. They’d had an argument with John, who’d been dead set to accompany his older brothers towards their local bar and possibly to their death. But Arthur and Tommy had both agreed that it should be them and  _ only them _ to meet the Italian as the Garrison. First, because it was them and  _ only them _ who’d been so insanely stupid to cause a fight. Second, if all hell would break loose and they would be ripped to pieces by a machine gun… well then their house at Watery Lane would need a new head of the pack. 

  
John would take over business and look after their inheritance and family. Finn still needed an example, Ada still had too much of an attitude and wouldn’t make it without any protection of an older brother. Pol had the brains but the disadvantage of being a woman and would eventually be overruled. 

  
It was half past three when Tommy and Arthur settled down at one of the booths across the bar, trading their normal hangout in the snug for a place in the wide open. Scudboat was nervously polishing glasses and Johnny Dogs kept a firm eye on the door, keeping his revolver hidden underneath his jacket but ready to fire within a second.

  
Tommy feared two things, one; they would be shot and killed. Second; they would shoot both Italians and would wind up in an endless loop of killing or being killed. What plagued him most was that he couldn’t come up with a third and better alternative. Keeping his notebook ready on the table and his revolver hidden underneath his coat, he nervously lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply, who knew, it might be his last one. 

  
Arthur squeezed his shoulder tightly when Russo and Changretti neared the Garrison. Fuck, Russo was carrying a large wooden crate, what where they up to?   
  
“You don’t think they are bringing in a bomb now do ya, Tom?” Arthur leaned in and whispered baffled. 

  
Tommy did not respond, he honestly didn’t know what to expect from the Italians. They did have a very strict honour code and family came first, on that regard they weren’t so different from the Peaky Blinders after all. 

  
Or the two Italians did not care about their safety or they were extremely well prepared. Without another glance, Russo and Changretta walked into the Garrison.

  
“Mr Shelby,” Vincent Changretta greeted both Blinders. The old gangster tapped his fendora hat back and straightened his navy blue scarf before sitting down. His younger cousin didn’t seem too eager to start their meeting and parked the wooden crate underneath their table.    
  
Tommy held his breath for a moment, Arthur's question still fresh in his memory. He could not hear the soft ticking of a clock and as far as he could tell didn’t sense the smell of gunpowder.    
  
“Mr Changretta, Russo,” Arthur responded short and hinted to Scudboat to serve them drinks.    
  
“Signores, I think we can keep this very short,” Changertta spoke bluntly, “my cousin Russo has something very important to tell you.”    
  
And that was it then, Russo was going to fuck them over, shoot them to bits. Tommy remembered his aunt Polly’s first rule when it came to their dirty business,  _ rule one, don’t push above your weight _ . Instinctively he knew Arthur’s fingers where twitching over the shiny metal of his revolver. Scudboat came to their table and slowly started to place glasses down, ready to mingle within the first gunshot.    
  
Russo ran his thick fingers through his slick hair and exchanged gazes with his older cousin before directing himself to the two Shelby’s.

  
“Gentlemen, I can honestly speak from the heart. I didn’t know about your relationship with the bella donna,” Russo said and looked at Tommy with a wry grin on his face, “I did a little background check and many of my contacts confirmed that the bella had been seen with you. I’d like to apologize to you, although I must say you should keep an better eye on your womenfolk, Mr Shelby.”     
  


Russo received a stiff nudge from the older gangster and pulled the crate on their table.    
  
“As a token of our deepest respect my cousin brought a dozen of our finest wines,” Vincent informed them, “Italian of course, red. Shipped straight from our family.”    
  
For a moment Tommy met Arthur’s completely stunned gaze and pinched himself.  _ Apologies _ ? Was this all one big twisted joke or where they actually dodging this bullet?    
  
“Once again, my deepest apologies,” Russo pressed when he didn’t receive any reaction from the two Blinders. “Do you accept?”    
  
Where they honestly letting them of the hook? The pair of them wrecked the Shepherd, sure Arthur paid for a great amount of the damage beforehand, but still it didn’t give them the right to bombard into their place and trash it.     
  
As Arthur remained gobsmacked, Tommy quickly started to scribble lines down into his notebook and shoved it in front of his brother’s face.    
  
“Of course we accept your apologies, Mr Russo, Mr Changretts, and we would be honored to toast with you,” Arthur read Tommy’s note out loud and quickly got a glass shoved in his hands.    
Tommy rapidly poured in the finest Whiskey within arms-reach and served their guests. Throwing a very frustrated glare at Arthur and his glass he raised his own, cocking his head to his brother to do the same.   
  
“And… A toast to our restored bond,” Arthur stuttered blankly eying Tommy. Four glasses clashed together high up in the air and Whiskey numbed their tongues.    
  
Tommy drained his glass in a flash, still half expecting a bomb or gun to go off.    
  
But surprisingly the Italians patiently drank their Whiskey, made a few kind comments about their bar and were interested about their local boxing rings.    
  
After half an hour of chit-chat the two Italians walked out of the Garrison unarmed and slightly tipsy.    
  
“Tommy, what the bloody hell just happened?” Arthur muttered still godsmacked. “Did those two Spaghetti-eaters just walk out,  _ giggling _ ?”    
  
Both brothers stared at each others in disbelieve and suddenly burst into a laughing fit. The tension escaped through hiccups and sniggers.   
  
“They actually asked your forgiveness, for the inconvenience with you and your little bella donna!” Arthur roared with laughter.    
  
The pack of Blinders that guarded the inside and outside of the Garrison looked puzzled at their bosses, clasping each others shoulders and laughing like two mad men.     
  
“They even bought you a present!” Arthur shouted, rubbing his teary eyes. “Jesus I thought they’d blow this place to bits, us included!”    
  
Tommy sniggered and raised on of the italian wines and uncorked the bottle. Instead of blood, expensive Masseto from Tuscany poured and although Tommy wasn’t a fan of  Merlot, this one tasted phenomenal. 

 

.-.-.   
  


The home of the infamous Shelby family wasn’t quite what Maria had pictured it to be. Not at all. Although the house was at least twice the size of her uncle’s it did not represent any form of wealth or luxury. As Maria had been a speaker for Tommy at the smoke clouded snug in the Garrison, her employer beamed status and affluence. His three piece suit was probably worth more than a year of her salary and with his immaculate hair and stoic appearance no-one would doubt Tommy Shelby belonged to the upper class.    
  
This house and all it’s decorations screamed something entirely else. Broken through brick walls were decorated with colorful wallpapers. Drapes, carpets and rugs where chaotically places all across the upper floor. The rooms had a musky scent to it and the smell would probably be worse if it weren't for all the cigarette smoke clouding the air. Clearly no-one bothered to ever open up a window, nicotine staining the ceilings and some parts of the wallpaper, it blistered down yellowed and disheveled.    
  
Downstairs it was buzzing with people although Maria couldn’t make out where all the voices where coming from. She’d been foolish enough to take a few steps down the stairs in which John jumped into direct action, blocking her exit and startling her. Although she didn’t know precisely what she’d done to get on John’s wrong side, she must have done something very bad because he gave her a very nasty snarl and ordered her to stay upstairs.     
  
Ada shouted something back at her older brother so vulgar it would make a sailor blush and had pulled her along into a cramped molded bathroom.   
  


A pair of towels where shoved into her hands by Ada who rabidly pointed out which soap she could use. 

 

“You can give your clothes to me, I'll throw them away for you.” Ada announced scrunching her nose up disapprovingly. “Well, c'mon I ain't got all day,” she told their kidnapped guest when Maria didn't jump into direct action. “Don't tell me you’re prudish, not while wearing that dress.”    
  


With a face slightly reddening Maria discarded herself from the last bit of her harlets wear. Ada took all of it holding only the tips of it in her fingers and left her to herself. 

 

The water was lukewarm and the flow went on and off, but it felt clenching as all the filth and shame started to wash off of her. Scrubbing her skin red and raw Maria had to confess a part of her still felt cheap and dirty. A small part of the depravity remained, it had pierced through her flesh and bones into her soul, mark her as a tatouage.    
  
How could she have been so foolish to believe she'd been able to survive on her own in this monstrous city. Naivety and the cunning manipulation of Russo had blinded her judgement and had her pinned down into a mattress a fortnight later.   
  


By Tommy.   
  


And she still hadn’t found the courage to figure out what to make of that.     
  
“Hurry up will you, you are hoarding all the hot water!” Ada moped from the hallway and knocked on the door. “John refuses to let me go downstairs, has something to do with you and Tommy and Arthur's whereabouts.” Ada rattled on and guided her back in Tommy's room.    
  


Now that the nearly narcotic coughing syrup was no longer fogging her brain she gave the cramped room a quick scan. It lacked character, by all means it could have been anyone's room. A chrome single bed decorated with a green and grey patched blanket and a matching pillow. In the corner stood a narrow wooded closet and next to it was just enough space for a neatly organised secretary. 

  
She’d been handed a bundle of clothes; a simple beige waist dress, underclothing and a pair of long socks. 

  
“I’d give you a prettier one, but since you’ve lost my new salour blouse…” Ada snarled, unable to hid her accusation and set a stool in the middle of the room and held a broom and a pair of scissors. 

 

“I'll need to cut it short- _ er _ .” Ada told her with a frown and pushed her down on the stool by her shoulder. Giving her a light squeeze she pushed her head up and ran her hand over her scalp. “Very short, but it will look lovely!” 

 

Combing through her hair Ada continued her Spanish inquisition. “So if you are not sleeping with my brother, then why are you of importance? I can’t recall Tommy ever being so spirited to trace anyone unrelated. And you don't strike me as a damsel worth kidnapping, no hard feelings.” 

 

“I know sign language,” Maria answered truthful, regretting her fluentness more by the day. “He uses me as a speaker.” 

 

“Of course,” Ada sighted frustrated, “Tommy found himself a new voice and doesn't bother to tell me, that's  _ so Tommy.” _

 

_ “ _ Actually, Polly was the one to find me,” Maria revealed and nearly jumped when Ada started cursing like a sailor again. 

 

“This bloody family doesn't care to tell me anything!” Ada snarled in spite and nearly cut Maria's ear. For a while the only sound in the room where the cutting of the scissors and Ada's muffled curses. 

 

“All done!” She suddenly bubbled and held a hand mirror in front of Maria, “you'll catch lots of whistles walking down the street with a bob like this!”

 

Ada's cheerfulness was not shared. Although Maria's hair looked better then before it was very short and striking. 

 

“I'd rather not catch anyone's eyes,” she told her hairdresser honest and ruffled through her bangs.

 

“Nonsense!” Ada huffed and captured a few loose strings with a clip and continued on a much more serious tone. “Let me give you some advice about this city, girl to girl. Don’t be a wallflower, or you will be downtrodden. Let them judge you, let them misunderstand you. Hell, let them gossip about you. Their opinions aren't your problem. You stay committed to your kin and be free in your own authenticity. No matter what they do or say, don't you dare doubt your worth or beauty or your truth. Just keep shining like you do.” 

 

It was the kindest most heartfelt lesson anyone had told her ever since she came to Small Heath and the lump that had settled deep inside her stomach suddenly didn't feel so heavy.

 

“That's what aunt Pol always used to tell us.” Ada gave away  with a small sincere smile. “She also told us to kiss a frog at midnight to cure a toothache, but hey, free advice is always welcome.” She leaned in a bit and whispered in her ear. “Doesn't work though, kissing the frog.”  

 

.-.-.

 

Tommy sat at their dinner table, twirling a half empty glass of masseto between his fingers. It was something past two in the morning but he couldn’t sleep. He felt trapped inside their house and longed for the soothing company of his horses to clear his head. But fleeing Watery Lane as a thief in the night felt like another failure. 

  
Of course there was another reason for his recent insomnia; his bedroom was occupied. And that reason had kept him twisting and turning on their sofa up until he gave up and reached for Russo’s expensive taste. 

  
Upstairs sounded soft rumbling and moments later footsteps creeped downstairs.    
Maria came into view and the girl visually shrunk when she spotted him sitting at the dinner table. 

  
_ Did you pick the lock?  _ Tommy signed impressed by the mixture of skills and bravery his stablemaid recently gained. 

  
“I just wanted some water,” Maria responded, it was such an obvious lie Tommy chuckled coldy and drilled his piercing blue’s into hers. She remained eye contact for a few seconds as she slowly headed down the stairs. Very reluctant she headed into the kitchen and silently filled a glass with water. 

  
Tommy studied her observative from aside and noticed her tense frown. His fingers stopped toying with his glass and he gently pushed it into her direction and motioned her to grab a chair. Indecisive she stared at the chair. 

  
_ Ada told me that your uncle wants to ring your wedding bells,  _ he signed to her and used his feet to shove a chair back, giving her another nicely wrapped order to park her ass down and listen to what he had to say. 

  
Maria glanced at him through her lashes and took the seat. Tommy wasn’t sure what to make of her expression, anger, fear, disgust? The girl had been brought up with such different morals and bounded by her Catholic chains Tommy wondered if she’d ever do something else then turn the other cheek.  

 

_ I want to make a deal with you,  _ he signed to her and pour himself a new glass. 

  
It was her turn to study him, her eyes ran over his face, searching for either kindness or cruelty. 

 

He smirked, he would show her both.  _ You will work for me. In return I will keep you and your kin safe. Away from your uncle.  _

__   
She did not respond, instead she finally sat down and switched her glass of water for something stronger. The massetto seemed to spark up some courage and hesitant she said.    
“I do have some demands.”

  
Tommy almost laughed and raised one eyebrow.  _ You think you are in the position to bargain with me?  _

_   
_ “You sent every man available to trace me down. You’ve brought your family in danger to get me back. You’re letting me sleep in your bedroom while you’re stuck here on the couch,” Maria stated matter-of-factly, “don’t deny it, Tommy, this is not a one way street. You need me too.”

  
Tommy’s jaw twitched, somewhere deep down a tiny part was somewhat proud that his fine taste of negotiation rubbed off on her. But it didn’t help him  _ at all _ if she held cards on her own. He made a mental note to inform his beloved sister to keep her babbling mouth shut next time he’d bring home a kidnapee. 

  
_ Fine, what did you have in mind?  _ He signed with clenched teeth.    
  
“I want a home for my mum and sister’s, not another filthy attic or a room in the poorhouse. I want a decent place,” She stated pragmatic and continued. “And I don’t want you ordering me around like I’m your dog. If I’m your speaker, please treat me with a degree of respect.”    
  
_ Will that be all, or do you want more on your silver platter?  _ Tommy signed sarcastic. 

  
“I don’t want to be part of anything wicked,” She added to her list of demands. 

  
_ I never give a promise I can’t keep, _ Tommy signed darkly then added,  _ but I will try to keep your fragile Catholic soul away from the worst bits that come with the job. Deal?  _ He raised his glass and stared intently at her. 

 

“There is one last thing.” 

 

He frowned and sighed annoyed, did she grow a pair of balls over night?  He held his hand up horizontally and stirred the air with two fingers, ordering her to hurry up.

 

“I don't want you to ever touch me again like the way you touched me when we were in The Shepherd.”  

 

Her soft yet venomous words hit him below the belt and unlocked the sick feeling of shame.

 

_ That's a promise I will keep,  _ he signed to her and pressed his right hand on his heart. 

 

Biting her lip her fingers clenched around her drink, she didn’t like the fact she was making a deal with the devil, that was very clear. But the thing was, in order to keep your family safe you are willing to cross all your boundaries and principles. Hell, Tommy knew first hand how easy it was to shake hands with the devil if your kin dangled on a thin thread above hell itself. 

  
“Deal.” Her glass ticked against his and she quickly took another small sip.

  
Tommy mimicked her and signed,  _ No more running away.  _

 

“I won't. There isn't anything to run to,” She bitterly added.

 

They drank their wine in uncomfortable silence and when Maria stood up to bring her glass to the sink, Tommy tossed keys across the table.

 

_ You can lock the door inside out, if you don't trust me.  _ He informed her when she blankly took the keys. Sheepishly she nodded and buried the keys inside her pocket.

 

_ Arthur and I will pick up your mother and sisters first thing in the morning. _

 

“And what if my uncle forestalls you?” 

 

_ Then he'll be missing an awful lot of teeth,  _ Tommy declared with a calm emotionless glance in his icy blues.

 

.-.-.

 

**Well, Tommy and Maria don’t seem to see eye to eye. But they made a step back to recovering their damaged relation although I think they still have a long way to go. And nobody got shot to pieces, I call that another victory. I simply love Ada, we’ll be seeing more from here, she’s such a great character to write about.**

 

**Feedback will be worshiped.** ****  
**  
** **Many thanks to Comet96 for being my betareader^^**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	18. A grey mouse or a serpent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John always had a high aversion towards torture and would rather bluff his way through life. 
> 
> But sometimes you had to make your point.

 

.-.-.

 

She had locked the door.   
  
In the early morning when his racing mind didn’t grand him a moment of sleep Tommy had checked up with Finn. As old habits die slow, his little brother had managed to kick his blanket to the end of his bed and was now uncomfortably shivering, being deprived from warmth. After cautiously tucking Finn in, Tommy inquisitively turned the knob of his bedroom door. The lock wouldn’t budge and the exclusion of the passage struck him deep, causing internal turmoil that kept him company until the break of dawn.    
  
Tommy was dead set on finding Maria’s mother and sisters and bringing them to Watery lane in one piece. Arthur and John were reluctant to bombard into the Pratt’s household and collect the damsels in distress. It had nothing to do with the threat of coppers, hell it wouldn’t be the first house to be bashed in broad daylight by the Blinders.   
  
No, his brothers weren’t too keen on his idea to bring three more people into their home.    
Polly was even more appalled by his idea and had been calling him a fool, an idiot and a few other nicknames he’d rather not repeat - _ if he could _ -.    
  
But he’d been quiet bold to his aunt and informed her that if she wanted him back working for their business again and remain as Arthur’s ‘advisor’, she’d better suck up her venom and follow his orders. Or at least stop complaining about them.

  
Tommy didn’t just want to save the poor women from a man like Pratt. It was also to show Maria he was trustworthy. As his official speaker he couldn’t have her fearing him and he figured he had to show her a generous and protective side to regain her trust and loyalty.   
  
And his little rescue mission had another reason, it was to prove himself he wasn’t walking in the footsteps of his father. He inherited his father’s trademark sly grin and mirrored the same stoic glance in his eyes his mother always hated. He didn’t want to follow his father’s lust for dominance and devilness.   
  
He knew he’d crossed a line that night in the Shepard and had to repent. And since he didn’t believe in God he figured busting Pratt’s door open would do more good then a few hail mary’s.   
  
Or actually, it was Arthur who kicked the door in and waltzed in swinging with his fists and foul mouth. John came in second and easily swooped the coffee table through the open door. A chair followed and it took a moment before another set of furniture came crashing through the window.   
  
Tommy checked his pocket watch and stomped out his cigarette against the doorbell. He had manners, it’s always polite to let your guest know when you arrive.   
  
Inside the tiny living room ruled absolute chaos. Arthur was choking Walter Pratt and John kept his revolver firmly pointed at the two prepubescent boys who where down on their knees with their hands raised up. Miss Pratt was yet again screaming her lungs out and pulled her hair hysterically, stomping her feet onto the floor.   
  
Tommy didn’t look at her twice and ignored the pleading gazes from both boys as he made his way through the wrecked household.   
  
Arthur reflectively yanked Walter Pratt down on his knees and kept a firm grasp around the man’s neck.   
  
“I already told ya!” Mr Pratt shouted, his sweat reeking of fear, “She ain’t here!”   
  
Calmly Tommy stepped a little closer and lowered down to meet with Mr Pratt at eye level and pulled out his notebook to show Pratt a message he’d written in advance. _So you thought you could ring her wedding bells?_ __  
  


The colour faded from Pratt’s sweaty face and Arthur used a little more pressure around his neck. Tommy effectively smashed his knuckles into the eye socket of the kneeling man.    
  
Ever so calm, Tommy tore the page from his notebook and showed Pratt another previous written message.  _ You think you own her? _ __   
__   
In response, he drew his fist into the man’s face, giving him another black eye.    
  


Taking his time to tear out another paper he observed as the man in front of him cried out in pain. Puzzled, he wondered if Mr Pratt would be able to read his third note if his eyelids kept swelling.    
  
_ She’s with the Peaky Blinder now. And so are her mother and sisters. They’re coming with me, and if you come near them again, you will regret it.  _ __   
__   
To give his written message more power, Tommy lit up a cigarette, inhaled deeply and yanked the man’s jaw open. Puffing clouds of nicotine into Mr Pratt’s face and without any hesitation pressed out the end of his cigarette on Pratt’s tongue.    
  
A howl more animalistic than human echoed through the house and even Mrs Pratt stopped screaming. Tommy was thankful for the reduction of noise and tapped the weeping man on his shoulders. Nodding towards John, he motioned to Mrs Pratt.    
  
“We are the mum and kids?” John snapped masking his squeamishness, John always had a high aversion towards torture and would rather bluff his way through life.    
  
But sometimes you had to make your point.    
  
“D- Dotty is upstairs, May and April are in the shed,” Miss Pratt stammered terrified and frozen on her feet.    
  
Tommy snapped his fingers and pointed at John to go into the yard to retrieve the girls, when facing Arthur, his older brother’s grib around Pratt’s neck was enough reassurance he would stay put and Tommy quickly marched up the stairs.    
  


The hallways were filthy and every board creaked underneath his feet. Rushing up another set of stairs he wondered how many mice where populating the house.    
  
Tommy gently knocked on the door, he wasn’t intending to startle the woman. For a moment he waited for a response then cursed himself for being such an idiot. Somehow he failed to remember Maria’s mother was deaf.    
  
Feeling like an intruder, Tommy cautiously peeked around the corner, inside a person stirred on the bed and quickly sprung up. Maria’s mother recognised him but wasn’t relieved by his presence. On the contrary, the woman dove towards the nearest weapon she could find, a silver hairpin. The resemblance to Maria was uncunning, but at least this time he wasn’t staring into the barrel of his own revolver. 

  
_ I found her _ , he quickly signed and a tremble ran through the body of the woman,  _ she’s safe _ . 

  
_ Is she alright?  _ Maria’s mother signed back and Tommy nodded.

  
The hairpin fell to the floor and before Tommy knew it, the woman flung her arms around his shoulders and held him close. 

  
“Th-ank...you,” the mother muttered grateful and stepped back, “Th-...ank you!”  

  
Tommy was surprised to hear the deaf woman speak, it hadn’t occurred to him that although she was hearing impaired there was nothing wrong with her vocal cords. 

  
_ Pack your belongs, I’m taking you and your daughters away from here. You’ll be safe with me _ , Tommy signed, his reasureness raising scepticisme he could understand. But she gave him the benefit of the doubt and rushed to fill up two suitcases with rags and tatters Tommy wouldn’t even use to whip his shoes off. 

  
When the two of them came downstairs Tommy cursed himself for not giving her a little warning but the mother didn’t even blink. Two young girls instinctively threw themselves around her body and hid their faces from all the turmoil surround them.     
  
Tommy snapped his fingers to get John’s attention and pointed at the suitcases. His younger brother huffed and muttered under his breath that he wasn't ‘a fucking mule’ but was generous enough to pick up the suitcases. 

  
Tommy directed himself to Arthur and nudged his head towards the front door and in response Arthur lifted the death grip from Pratt’s neck. 

  
“Don’t think you can ever come back here, Dotty!” Mrs Pratt spat at her sister, “you make your choice if you step outside this house, you and your daughter’s will never be welcome here ever again!” 

  
_ We weren’t welcome in the first place _ , Maria’s mother signed in response and ushered her two young daughters to get moving. 

 

“I’ll report you for this!” Mr Pratt warned waverly, with a lisp and saliva dripping down his chin.

  
Tommy threw him an disgustingly sly grin and threw down a few pennies and a note.  _ For the window _ .  

.-.-.

 

The snowball effect the little grey mouse caused had Polly set to a boiling point. This had not been according to plan. Instead of being a bird chirping in her ear, the girl had turned into a snake and had slithered her way into Watery Lane. 

 

What affected her the most was how much of the old Tommy showed ever since she returned.

Yesterday - when she'd been praying on her bloody knees to keep her family safe and sound - her two nephews returned all in one piece and drunk on expensive wine and hauteur. 

 

The self indulge smug worn by Tommy's silenced lips brought back memories from before the war.  _ I told you not to worry,  _ he'd written down while Arthur shared a bottle with John and bragged about how they tamed those bloody spaghetti-eaters. Tommy had been passively sitting in the middle of their cramped kitchen observing his chaotic family and contently sipping from his bottle. He'd been silent of course, but not timid and laughed brightly as Arthur imitated Russo with a heavy accent and a posh walk. 

 

Oh, how she missed hearing that laugh. 

 

Yesterday Tommy had allowed himself to be part of his family again. No-one spoke a word about it, but everyone had been aware.    
  


So, maybe this grey mouse should be granted a humble bit of respect although she'd stabbed the Shelby family in the back by suddenly vanishing into thin air. Tommy seemed to forgive her though, but Polly was the queen of holding grudges.    
  


Sipping on her tea, Polly observed the young lass; she'd positioned herself on the chair facing the window and fiddled nervously with the hem of her borrowed skirt. Although she'd cut her hair she still maintained her girlishness with her hopeful doo eyes and small button nose she wrinkled every now and then as a nervous tic.    
  


“I won't be your spy anymore”, Maria said without looking away from the window. Polly blinked at the girl and wondered why she thought she could make demands.    
  
“I want to be your alley,” the little grey mouse continued. “We have a shared interest, we both need Tommy to be well. But I don’t think summing me up every monday morning for a review of his habits and whereabouts will work. He’s not stupid, eventually he will find out you’ve been using me as a pawn to keep an eye on him. It won’t do us both no good to get cross with him. I will be  _ of influence _ ,” Maria referred to Polly’s own pick of words, “and I will try my best to keep him well. I will inform you if I fear his alcohol use grows out of proportions.”    
  
Polly’s heart fell when she heard the girl talk about her nephew’s obvious self destructive tendencies.    
  
“You’ve must forgotten your place, ” Polly replied coldly. “But don’t worry I will explain it again to you dear,” she spoke as to a simpleton. “You’re here for one reason and one reason alone, because you happen to be fluent in sign language. Other then that, you’re nothing more than a wench from the working-class.”   
  
The girl’s eyes darted from the window for a moment and her hands stopped plucking on the hem of her sleeves. “I’m well aware I'm nothing more than a tool, but I'm not easily replaceable, else I wouldn't be here. But a tool nonetheless. If Tommy finds out you’re using me as a spy he will scold me and maybe I'll deserve a flogging, but he will keep using me. But you, you’re his kin, his blood, and he will feel betrayed, it'll cut him deep.” The girl's eyes left the window again to meet Polly's. “That will do him no good. Please allow me to be your alley, we both want to keep our families safe.”    
  


Before Polly could respond, Ada dragged herself into the kitchen, her niece had never been a morning person, that was one of the traits she and her mother shared.    
  


“Morning,” Ada muttered unaware of the tension and poured herself a cup of tea. “Does anyone want a refill?”    
  


For a moment the three women stared thoughtfully into steamy porcelain until Ada cleared the silence.    
  


“Pol, can you read Maria her future?” She asked enthusiastically. “Yesterday she told me she’d never been to a fair and how she enjoys Charlie's stories about our roots.” Ada turned to Maria and chattered on. “Aunt Poll inherited the spiritual sense from my great-grandmother. She has a third eye…” She added mysteriously, tapping in between her brows.     
  


Although Pol didn’t feel any need peek into the future of the meddlesome lass, she was flattered by Ada's words. Pushing asides saucers, cutlery, and other cooking ware, she cleared their dinner table and ordered Maria to sit with them. The girl seemed reluctant to abandon her seat facing the window but did what she’d been told.    
  
“You’re right handed?” She asked and received a simple nod of the head for an answer. “Swirl your cup three times in a counter clockwise direction, clear your mind and drink but leave about a tablespoon of tea.”    
  
Maria drank from her cup and carefully placed the porcelain back on the table. Polly closed her eyes allowing her mind to relax. As a child she’d been shunned by neighbours, after she predicted her elderly neighbours death. The lady had been old and sick, her father had called it damn luck, but in her heart Polly knew it had been more than coincidence.    
  
She’d been ridiculed and wasn’t allowed to play with some of the children from her street. Her nana had been harsh about her grief and snapped at her that being different was their family curse.  _ But wait and see Pollyanna, after twilight you will earn your shillings.  _

  
Her nana had been right, neighbours that avoided her during the day and wished to be told their future after the dusk had settled. Her father greedly took advantage of their faith in their young local fortune teller. Many times she’d been wrong, caused by her inexperience but no-one ever dared to address her flaws simply because visiting her was a taboo in the first place.   
  
As she grew older the whispers appeared, her father first called it childish imagination and plain insanity when she reached her teens. After she lost both her children to the police the whispers never left, so maybe her father had been right. But she wouldn’t be the first in their family to be insane and perfectly able to function.    
  
The voices of both girl’s bubbled up ever so often but disappeared into a void of black nothingness and Polly concentrated on the whispering from afar.    
  
Polly stared through her lashes and picked the cup with both her hands.    
  
“There is a axe simbole near the top of your cup, indicating you’ll overcome problems. I see birds, which are usually good signs, but they are near the bottom of your cup, so it means you’ll be on a journey and not likely a nice one to endure.” Polly brows furrowed upwards before molding into a deep line. “On the bottom of your cup lays a cross, quick child give me your hand.”    
  
Ada reached forward to peek inside the cup and gasped. “That means death!”    
  
Maria looked upset at the two gypsies and cleared her throat. “But this is just superstition right? Charlie told me all about-”    
  
Without giving the girl the time to finish Polly grasped her wrist and pulled her right hand closer. The whispers breathed into her ears and she felt rushed, as a fox chased by bloodhounds.    
  
Quickly she scanned the calloused working-class hand. “Your life line splits into two. This means you’ll be forced to make a choice between two persons you love deeply. One is long, the other end short.” Polly ran her index finger over both lines and ended at the shortest one. “This one is near your lifeline, which means you will have your heart broken. One of your loved ones will die before you’ll become truly happy.”    
  


Shocked Maria drew her hand back and held it close to her chest as if she’d been burned by Polly’s touch. The girl wore the same scared expression as Polly’s mother did when she woke her parents to inform them that their elderly neighbour died.    
  
“This is just gypsy superstition,” Maria muttered tense, “or a simple trick just like how Tommy shuffles his cards.”    
  
The three women weren’t granted more time to clear the thickening air because the front door flung open and two hysterical girls threw themselves into the lap of their older sister. Arthur bombarded in after, quickly rummaging into their liquor cabinet for a bottle of strong alcohol, to sterilize his scraped knuckles by the looks of them. John entered, indifferent to the crying women around him, he’d had his fair share of female drama on an everyday basis with a sister like Ada.     
  
A third woman ran inside and cried by the sight of her lost daughter, pulling her into a tight hug. The whole scene of a small family reuniting should have been heartwarming but Polly knew these newcomers would only bring trouble. These were four more mouths to feed and four more people to worry about. So four times as much trouble in Polly’s eyes.    
  
_ Trust only kin _ , was the second rule Polly lived by ever since she lost both her children. And now there where a lot of ears that could eavesdrop and ruin the pleasant life she and her family deserved after being downtrodden by the more fortunate and the hand of the law.    
  
Tommy was the last one to enter Watery Lane, boasting with a newly gained self confidence and seemed somewhat affected by the emotional gorgers.    
  
Hugging her lost daughter tightly to her chest the mother directed herself to Tommy and started signing with gratitude and relief washed over her face, clearing all deep lines and tightness. Tommy casually made a few gestures with his hands and the woman’s smile was warm enough to heat up the entire house.    
  


“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Polly whispered softly to her nephew, “all these gorgers in our house, I’m not liking this for a bit. The girl, she is a cursed one, I tell you that, I’ve seen it Thomas, she’ll bring trouble and misfortune. She’ll damn us all.”    
  
Tommy gave her a long bored look and brushed her warnings off with a wave of his hand. Polly bit her tongue to keep herself from telling Tommy about her hand reading. It would be useless, he had his mother’s common sense and his father’s thickness. Although he treasured their inherited superstition he would throw her warning in the wind, simply because the girl was part of his plan.    
  
And the whole world could go to hell before Tommy Shelby would give up his plans.    
  
So for the time being, Polly would remain a bystander but keep her eyes and ears open. And sleep with a dagger underneath her pillow, if she had to.  

 

.-.-.

 

**This chapter practically wrote itself. I didn’t intend to go so overboard with Tommy’s -everything but delicate- way of warning Maria’s uncle. But like I said, this chapter practically wrote itself and it just happened. I think it’s in character and in Tommy’s defense he only did it to keep Maria safe. Again #TeamMuteTommy, everything evil will be forgiven.**

 

**I'd also like to add that this story has more then 1000 hits and I'm so happy about that!:)**

 

**Love to hear from you,**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	19. Working-class hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tom, they need to get the hell out of our house, before someone dies or gets murdered by me!” Arthur spat at Tommy who’d failed to find his matchbox.

 

 

.-.-.

 

Number six of Watery Lane had never been under so much pressure and lack of personal space.   


The four newcomers weren’t welcome by half of the Shelby’s, Polly, Arthur, and John. The other half, Tommy, Ada, and Finn were trying to keep the peace and keep everyone out of each other’s hair. But in a household with barely enough space for six people, ten was a clear overkill, it was a beehive and a fucking nightmare.

  
Tommy’s bedroom was fully occupied with the four women, sheets, blankets, and pillows filling up every inch of the floor. The mum, Dotty used the bed and her three daughters slept on the floor huddled together like a litter of pups.   
  
There was only _one_ bathroom and _one_ toilet in the house. Within the first twelve hours it caused Arthur to have a heart attack and the twin girls to be scarred for life when the oldest of the Shelby brother’s waltzed into the bathroom butt naked while the twins where brushing their teeth.   


The sound that two sets of lungs could produce in the early morning was enough to awaken the entire household and have John and Tommy jump into direct action, guns ready to be used.   
  
The sight of a grown shouting _naked_ man and two alarmed gunmen was enough reason for the twins to cry their little hearts out.   
  
Brighter than the most vibrant red, Maria retrieved her two siblings and took them back to their borrowed bedroom and did her absolute best to ignore Arthur’s obvious showing manhood.   
  
This was only the first clash of the families.   


Finn, suddenly not the youngest of the house, felt victorious and keen on ‘brothering’ the two girls. His two new playmates were very happy to borrow his toys and were in awe with every word he told. Finn, being flattered by all the admiration, turned into an absolute blabbermouth.   
  
Overconfident he bragged about all the weapons laying around the house and how his family thought he didn’t know where they hid them. Of course, the next step was a thrilling game of hide and seek until Finn pulled a handgun from a hollowed out book. With the two girls marveling at his treasure Finn showed how a man should handle a gun. Well, at least how he thought a man should handle a gun, because either Polly or his brother’s would smack him on the back of his head every time he even dared to glance at a fire weapon.   
  
May wanted to hold the gun, but April was the oldest by fifteen minutes and both girls tried to snatch the gun from Finn, bickering with each other like only sisters can.   
  
As a result the gun went off, a bullet shot right through the living room window and just like the other morning, three alarmed Shelby brother’s rushed into action to find two crying girls, a smoking gun and a mortified Finn.   


The three musketeers were sent into the yard, all with a print of Arthur’s palm throbbing on the back of their scalp.   
  
So far the four newcomers were two strikes behind.

 

.-.-.

 

“Tom, they need to get the hell out of our house, before someone dies or gets murdered _by me_ !”  Arthur spat at Tommy who’d failed to find his matchbox. Throwing an agitated glare at his older brother, he yanked his cigarette from between his lips and threw it on the kitchen counter. God, he’d pay a bloody fortune to shout.   
  
Instead he flipped through his notebook and tapped his finger down on a circled _ok_ and pulled open a draw in desperate search for a light.   
  
When Arthur failed to receive any other form of answer from his brother, he cursed and marched out of the door announcing he was going out for a drink before he would cogitate a bloody murder. Polly, overhearing Arthur’s outburst rushed by to accompany him and threw Tommy the evil eye.   
  
He. Needed. A. Fucking. Smoke.   
    
Slamming the fucking draw shut without a fucking sign of the fucking matchbox he fought the urge to just throw the towel in the ring and get piss drunk with his horses. At least his calm animals wouldn’t be bickering and meddling and fucking _doubting_ every fucking step he was making. Polly had been the one who’d practically begged him to return to Watery Lane and hold Arthur’s fucking hand to keep their business from becoming a sinking ship.   
  
He single handedly mapped out a plan, took action, tried his best to keep his sanity and his nerves under control and for what? A fucking headache and a lost box of matches.     
  
Well, then he was getting a drink. That was the only plus side of Watery Lane at this very moment, there was always enough booze to get by.   
  
Pouring one of Polly’s favorite porcelain cups full of Whiskey -to spite her- he parked his arse down to sit at their kitchen table, as a the gentleman he was.   


A gentleman who was drinking whiskey from a tea cup at half past seven in the fucking morning, who, he thought, hadn’t had any sleep or a decent shave in the last seventy two hours. Or a bath, or a proper meal or a fulfilling fuck.  
  
But the morning could only turn  worse as Maria and her sisters shyly trottered into the kitchen. The twins, holding their arms firmly behind their backs, eyed their big sister who had her arms crossed tight against her chest and nudged her head towards Tommy.   
  
“We are very sorry, sir,” the left girl muttered softly unable to look up from the tips of her toes.   
  
“We’d like to apologize,” the right girl piped in and moved her hands from behind her back.   
A bouquet of tamped down wild flowers appeared, wrapped with a string of hemp rope.   
  
Startled, Tommy eyed the flowers and then moved his eyes to the young girls and then to Maria, who’d nervously stared back at him.   
  
“We’re very sorry!” The first girl repeated and showed her bundle of flowers, mangled daisies and dandelions from their yard.   
  
It was a sweet gesture, enough to clear the bolt of anger feasting inside his stomach. He brought his right hand near his lips and with a flat hand moved forward, a bit down in the direction of the twins. It was the sign for _thank you_ .   
  
Again the two girls seemed startled and the right one cautiously whispered to the other. “He’s just like mum.”   
  
Maria visually shrunk and smacked her sister on the back of her head for being so rude and stared at him, afraid of his reaction.   
  
It took him a very deep sigh and the content of Polly’s cherished porcelain to respond back to the girls without ripping his hair out.   
  
_No, I’m not. I can hear, but I can’t speak_ , he signed to the girls and it was strangely comforting that the pair of them were able to understand him directly.   
  
“Are you born that way, like my mum?” the left girl asked boldy and rather intrigued.   
  
_No, I hurt my head when I fought in the war_ , Tommy responded without going into the more horrific details.   
  
His information sank in and he received a puzzled look. “So, you can’t talk. But can you whistle?” the left girl asked fascinated.   
  
“Or growl, like a bear?” her sister questioned curious.   
  
“Alright, enough! April, May, to your room and don’t come out until I say so!” Maria spat agitated and dragged both girls roughandly towards the stairs.   
  
Remorsefully she retreated back into the kitchen with two bouquets of trampled flowers.   
  
_Maybe if you give your sisters a penny they can make me do a trick next time_ , Tommy told her coldy, _may I have your attention boys and girls, the circus is in town!_   
  
“I am so sorry!” Maria exclaimed embarrassed and dumbed the flowers in the sink, “please forgive my sisters they are always so… so…”   
  
_Forthcoming? Bratty? Blunt?_   
  
“Yes, all of that,” Maira moaned and hid her face inside her palms, “Gosh, what must you think of my family.”   
  
_They have an amazing resemblance with mine to be honest; exebistunistic, armed and triggerhappy_ , Tommy informed her blunt furrowing his brows.   
  
Maria bit her lip and anxiously asked, “Are you planning to throw us out?”   
  
Tommy sipped from his second cup of whiskey and shook his head. _I made you a promise, didn’t I?_ Swallowing the strong beverage, he place the porcelain back on the saucer. _But you can’t stay here, I think you will agree with that. Can’t have your noble Christian heart living here with Arthur swinging his dick in the hallway every morning_ .   
  
Seeing her blush made a small grin grown on his lips, and he wickedly winked at her. _I’ll get you your own place, I’ve already got something in mind, but before I can move your lot over I’ll have to do a little inspection with Arthur._ Usually he’d ask John to come along, but let’s say his younger brother was dealing with other urgent businesses. One that kept one happy girl’s legs spread and hopefully opened up a door to their next step up.   
  
_And then we need to clear the place up._ With clearing the place up, Tommy meant throwing its current residents out, but she didn’t need to know that. Two blocks from here lived a married couple, the man owned them a great amount of money he’d gambled away at their boxing rings.   
  
It wasn’t much, a cheap two bedroom flat on the second floor. But it was nearby and in one of the safer areas of Small Heath. Plus a few of his more trustworthy members lived in the same building and would be able to keep an eye open and throw in a fist if it was needed.   
  
_Until then, be so kind to stay on everyone's good side, in case you’ve missed all the angry glares and death threats, some members of my family don’t want you here._   
  
“I understand, I’m sorry my sisters got everyone so alarmed,” Maria muttered embarrassed.   
  
_Twice, although Finn had a big share in that_ , Tommy added and lazely stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck. Fuck, sleeping -well lack of it- on the couch was costing him his back.   
  
“Is there anything else I can do?” Maria asked.   
  
Tommy twirled his stretched arms around the kitchen, Find me my fucking matches .   
  
The girl nodded and diligently started a search for his matchbox. Pulling the drawer open Tommy was ready to inform her the box wasn’t there, he already checked but before his hands could sign the first word Maria pulled out his matches.   
  
What sorcery is this? Tommy wondered as she handed him his lost item. Staring dully at the cardboard box he took his cigarette from the table and lit it.   


_So, what’s the mystery behind your sister’s names, April and May?_ He signed after welcoming the most wanted nicotine inside his lungs.   
  
“April was born on the 30th of April, just before midnight. May was born fifteen minutes later on the 1st of May. It’s very unique for a twin to be born on a different day, maybe even a first.” Maria shared with a hint of prideness. Then her stomach started to growl and her pride disappeared as snow did in the sun.

  
In response Tommy reached back to snatch an argil jar from the pantry. The contents of biscuits made Maria’s mouth water and as politely as she could, started shoving cookies down her throat.   


Meanwhile, Tommy started to write down a note for her, _Fetch your family something to eat and let the kids roam in the yard, it’ll keep ‘em from tearing up the house. Take Finn along and ask him for his marbles, he loves to be all posh about them and he’s likely to share. He’s a good kid._ Better than his brother’s, Tommy thought and moved his notebook over the table. Maria read it while crunching her cookies and whipped her mouth free from crumbs.   
  
“I will,” she said, pushing back his notebook and gave him a lingering look. “I don’t think I’ve said it before, but thank you. I’m well aware this is all part of our deal, but thank you so much, for everything.”   
  
Tommy blinked a few times, suddenly self conscious of all his tender gestures. Right now, the chaotic household reminded him firmly of the tension embedded all throughout his childhood.   
When he was young he’d always been the mediator between his parents and siblings. He’d jumped in between if his father was at his mother’s throat. He’d been the reassuring shoulder for Ada and John. And the quiet consoler for Arthur when his older brother’s strong shoulders weren’t strong enough to carry the burden of being the split image of his father.   
  
From the moment the four women stepped into their household he’d instinctively taken on his childhood roles and suddenly wondered if it had been wise to show the newcomers so much of his good-heartedness.   
  
Deliberately he threw her a stoic glance and waved her off. Later when she took the children outside he purposely threw the bouquets of wildflowers in the trash for all their eyes to see. Although his conscience ached he knew he had to show them that the infamous Tommy Shelby didn’t have a soft spot. Because softness equaled weakness and he couldn’t afford to be weak.

 

.-.-. _  
_

Arthur wasn’t too thrilled to do another ‘house makeover’, but when he learned that evicting two poor sods from their apartment meant having Watery Lane to themselves again, he was most eager to help with the eviction. Tommy made it very clear to spare most of the furniture and keep the windows and doors from breaking.   
  
It took many tears but not so much time to throw the poor husband and wife out of their house with nothing more than a suitcase full of their belongings.   
  
Arthur took the liberty to announce to all bystanders that this was what would happen to anyone who didn’t pay their debts to the Peaky fucking Blinders. Tommy was proud of his older brother’s harsly spoken words, from time to time people needed to be shown how powerful they where, it kept them on their toes and that made it easier to maintain ownership of their city.   
  
The apartment needed a good scrubbing, some proper pots and pans and a few more beds but other then that it was livable as long as you didn’t expect any luxury. But compared to the Pratt’s this was a castle and even better, a fortress of security.   
  
“Doing an awfully lot of charity work, Tom,” Arthur grumbled when a set of strong men lifted beds and mattresses up the narrow stairway, “don’t you think you’re overdoing it?”   
  
_It’ll pay off_ , he informed his brother with a note and pointed to the man which apartment to bring the bedding to, walking with Arthur over the balustrade. _Go and inform the people about their new neighbors, make it very clear who they are and who’s protecting them._   
  
Arthur marched off to bang on some doors and Tommy crossed his arms proudly staring at the fixing up apartment. Lighting a cigarette he stepped inside, checked how far the men where with building the bunk bed and ran his arm over the fabric of the shabby sofa. Someone had to sleep on the couch, the second bedroom was barely big enough for one bed, but that wasn’t his problem. Honestly this entire place wouldn’t cost him a penny but he’d gain a very loyal worker, simply because he’d be holding all the cards.   
  
Her house, her family and their safety.   
  
With a smug grin on his face he walked back outside, amused about how Arthur was terrorizing the neighbours.

 

.-.-.

 

It was late and quiet, Tommy labeled it as his favorite time of the day now that he and his relatives weren’t on one line. Polly was all about ignoring him and slamming doors, John kept whining about being secluded, Ada had to remind him every goddamn minute how wonderful it was to have another teenage girl around and well, Finn and the twins made so much noise...the entire fucking day. The only one that wasn’t bothering was Dotty, the mother, she still appeared to be questioning his kind motives although she didn’t press anything. The mum mostly remained in Tommy’s bedroom, trying to keep her young girls out of trouble.   


Maria joined him at the kitchen table, still dead set on pleasing him and his family in every possible way. When he came back from his inspection and announced they’d be moving into their new apartment the very next day she’d been in awe. She’d been making tea, peeled potatoes, offering Polly to help with cooking and humbly run off when she’d been told to mind her own goddamn business.   
  
Right now she was stitching Tommy’s razor blade firmly back in between it’s peak. It was something Tommy could easily do himself, but since she was so focussed on staying on his good side -and because he had a absolute dislike toward needlework- he’d handed it over.

  
_Tell me, how did you survive a week on your own in the streets of Small Heath?_ Tommy signed to her casually.   
  
Maria bit through a thin thread and picked up a needle. “I saved up some of my fee and sew it in my bucket hat. That money kept me off the streets for a few days, I stayed in an motel because I honestly didn’t know where to rent a safe room in this city. I overheard two young ladies in the hallways share how much money they were making at The Shepard,” she rolled her eyes, “I know now that those girls were just heading back from being with a client. I asked the girls if I could come along. They asked if I was a hard worker and if I had any experience, I honestly thought they were talking about being a waitress!” Maria said defencive when Tommy snorted amused. “So I bluffed, said I’d been working at clubs for years and had much experience, - again, with taking orders and serving drinks!” She added when Tommy tapped the ash off his cigarette and grinned.

 

“Russo hired me on the spot, told me I’d be safe and could rent a cheap room at his club for some extra service. I honestly didn’t think he meant having sex with clients, I thought he meant cleaning the toilets, mobbing the floors or something.”

  
Oh her naivety was going to be the death of her, Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose and didn’t dare to think of what would have happened to her if he hadn’t showed up with Arthur.   
_So how many nights have you been working for Russo before I dragged your out of his club?_

 _  
_“It was my first night,” Maria confessed, “oh, I dropped so many glasses and I’ve never poured an alcoholic drink my entire life.”  

  
_Well then, let me enlighten your existence,_ Tommy signed humoured picking up a bottle of Merlot from the floor, a leftover from yesterday's victory. He pointed to a cabinet and ordered her to take two glasses and pulled the cork from the expensive wine.

  
“I’m not sure I should be drinking,” Maria murmured reluctant but poured in two glasses without much finnes.

  
_Nonsense, you have plenty of reasons to be drinking_ , Tommy informed her, tipped his glass against hers and took a sip. His dislike for Merlot still didn’t win from the sweet taste of yesterday’s survival and content he sat back scratching the back of his head.

  
The scars on his scalp quickly brought him back from his high and one glance at the girl made him aware that she noticed.

 _Hurry up_ , he ordered and motioned to his cap. Maria retreated back to her duty and left him alone to deal with his demons.

  
_Have you always been good with needles and thread?_ Tommy signed when she handed him his flat cap for inspection, she’d neatly hid the tiny weapon, the razorblade was just a shimmer.

 

“My mum is better, I’ve learned everything from her. She used to make all our clothes and had a lot of orders from our locals. She can make suits, trousers and even made her own wedding dress,” Maria babbled, fingers toying around her glass. “It’s a shame no-one wants to hire her really, I bet she’s better than most.”

  
Tommy combed his fingers through his hair and placed his hat back, relieved to feel the familiar fabric conceal his most obvious weakness. She noticed the softening in his bearing too but quickly dodged his gaze and placed her needle and thread back in Polly’s sewing kit.

  
_Tomorrow morning, I’ll show you your new home. You have the weekend to settle. Monday we’ll be having a meeting with the Red Dragon._

  
“Red dragon?” Maria questioned nervously.   
  
_Let’s say Johnny-boy shagged us a way inside the Chinese market,_ Tommy signed and continued. _I expect you to look well rested and presentable. Even more important you won’t be asking questions and if I ever have the slightest idea who’ve been rattling too much with that blabbering mouth of yours to anyone, I’ll have you and your family back on the streets. Do I make myself clear?_

 _  
_“I won’t tell anyone about anything,” Maria promised with a tiny voice.

  
_Good girl, now off to bed, you’ll have a busy day tomorrow,_ Tommy informed her very aware of the filthy state her new apartment was in. But again, not his problem as long as the place didn’t get riddled with lice and flees. Besides, he already got most of their furniture set up and a little scrubbing would do them good, let them remember their place, they were working-class after all.

 

.-.-.

 

**I absolutely loved writing about the clash of families, I could see it all happening. What I also like is that I gave Tommy a clearer reason to be an cold asshole at times. He mistakes kindness for weakness and I think because of his head trauma and losing his voice he’s been feeling weak and therefore feels the need to keep up a calloused mask. To keep himself standing. He’s going to be a tough cookie to break and it will be a thrill to try, because I love hurt/comfort and Tommy is the perfect candidate.**

 

**Again many thanks to Comet96 for doing a wonderful job as my beta-reader,**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

 


	20. Meeting the Red Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So that's why they call him Red Dragon."

 

 

.-.-.

 

Tommy made their arrival at their new address a spectacle. He’d summoned half a dozen of his men to escort the four women from Watery Lane to Arsenal Street. Their little parade took halt at the second floor of the three storey high apartment complex and Tommy pulled they keys from his pocket and opened the door, stepping aside to give the new residence a clear path. 

  
Relieved that the group of ill-mannered men remained outside, Maria walked after her sisters and mum pulling along one of their suitcases. 

  
The first very noticeable thing about her new home was the stench; the smell of catpiss, cigarette smoke, and utter filth filled up her nostrils. The hallway was narrow and the wooden board flooring needed a desperate scrubbing and creaked underneath her feet.  

  
The biggest bedroom was quickly occupied by her sisters, who’d immediately started bickering about who was going to get the top bunk bed. Pulling each others hair and cat clawing until May eventually roared victory and kicked her older sister off the top bed. 

  
Maria rolled her eyes at her sisters and placed her luggage in the second, smaller bedroom. The cramped up space was narrow and windowless, deprived from fresh air and sunlight. But it beat the mice infested attic at her uncle’s by far.  

  
_ I’ll sleep on the sofa _ , her mother signed to her, the fear of being in the dark always lingered. 

 

Maria was fine with that, secretly relieved to finally have a small bit of privacy. Besides the narrow single bed, there wasn’t any furniture and she quickly went on a scavenger hunt to find something she could use to store her clothes and belongings. 

  
While scanning for anything useful, she inspected the kitchen, the stove was rusting and needed a good clean, the cupboard was missing a shelf and some mice feces littered the counter. The sink was the worst, lumps of grease and spoiled food floated in the three inch dirty water. The kitchen needed a drastic cleansing before she’d be making tea.  

  
Besides the sofa and a small table with four non-matching chairs there wasn’t much furniture. The only showpiece was an antique cuckoo-clock hung up high above a dark and dusty dessoir.    
Maria’s mum opened the two windows widely, hands itching to start turning the apartment upside down. 

 

“We have a bath, a bath!” April announced thrilled, holding the door open to show her family her newly found treasure. 

  
Again, the porcelain from both the bath and the toilet needed a good scrubbing but the plumbing worked and when Maria turned the knobs a gush of brown water poured out but turned clear and warm after a few minutes. 

  
_ It’ll do? _ Tommy signed, leaning against the doorway with a trademark cigarette pressed between his lips. Maria rose up from the bath and ran her hand over the stained porcelain. 

  
“It’s more than I expected,” she muttered still baffled from the outrageous favour. Of course she was fully aware that she’d be paying a high price for his protection and a roof over their heads, but the place was far better then she’d expected and a whole lot better than a bed in the poorhouse. 

  
_ Good _ , Tommy pulled out his wallet and took out a few bills,  _ this is a deposit, see it as asurrance on both parties; you can see my good nature and I’ll know you won't disappear, because you owe me. _ He placed the money down on the edge of the bath,  _ buy some food, something to clean this place up and buy yourself something decent to wear. Nothing colorful, no cleavage.  _ Tommy paused and looked her over then continued.  _ I’ll send Ada over, she’ll be eager to fetch you up with something representational _ . Without further notice he added the keys on the top of the bills and left the apartment. 

 

.-.-.

 

A bath had never been so rewarding or fulfilling. Maria had scrubbed her hands raw to clean the entire bathroom and every inch of it had been cleansed with bleach up until the point she nearly fainted from the chemical fumes. Her mother had taken drastic measures in the kitchen and had been able to prep a simple meal. 

  
Sunken deep into the tub she scrubbed the dirt from under her nails and wringed her hair, consumed into her refreshing task she didn’t notice her mum coming into the bathroom. The quiet woman sat down on the edge of the bath and gave her surprised daughter a long and concerned look. 

  
_ What is he to you, Maria? _ Her mother signed, a deep frown set on her forehead,  _ the man that arranged this house, what is it he does? _

__   
Apprehensive, Maria shifted in the tub and wished the hard lines in her mother’s face would soften now that they were safe and back together. She’d feared her mum would be raising questions and hoped she’d somehow postpone this parental interrogation. Biting her lip she occupied herself with wringing her hair, using it as an excuse not to look at her mother directly.    
  
“He does what he does and I don’t ask questions, it’s not my place and he doesn’t pay me to meddle with his business,” She murmured slow so her mother could read her lips, running her fingers through her knotted damp hair. Through her short strings she noticed her mum’s disappointment and a lump in her stomach started growing again. She’d always been a shy girl and used to cling to her mother’s skirt with every new step, challenge, and personal problem. The loss of her father and brother had created a void between them. A grudge had nested inside her chest while her mother lost herself in deep grief and depression. The first few weeks after losing her brother her mum hadn’t been able to eat or get out of bed. When their father went to the front line to fight for the king their mum spent most her time mourning and seemed blind for her daughter's shared pain. Maria had been the one taking care of the little ones who’s tantrums grew by lack of stability and unprocessed grief. 

 

Her family’s downward spiral circled out of control. Losing their father and husband set Maria and her mum further adrift. And as if God went North, their farmhouse burned down to the ground, losing their animals, their home, and their possessions. 

 

Their strong and happy family was shattered. Some left behind in the battlefield, vanished out of their lives and for what? A foolish war started by foolish men. Maria’s grudge towards the foolishness and unnecessary death of both her brother and father had been another reason she and her mother drifted further apart. Her mum was proud that her child and husband fought for what was right and died a honorable death. Maria  _ hated  _ her brother for deserting them, dying for nothing and having their father walk right in his footsteps. For ludicrous ideals, taste for adventure and thrill. She’d been torn between mourning for her older brother and hating him. Because he put her burdon on her shoulders, she’d be taking care of her family for the rest of her life by shaking hands with a devil. 

 

_ You’re a smart young lady Maria, there is no employer in a city this careless and big that gives people like us a home for simple labour. That dress you bought today with that girl, that is not for a stablemaidens job. What is it you do when you’re with that man? _ __   
_   
_ __ I’m his personal speaker, he’s a businessman and I acomminated him during meetings, Maria signed to her mother. She could feel the lump in her stomach grow and festing with the grudge she held for her brother’s dissertation. 

  
_ And after those meetings, what is it you do?  _ Her mother pressed and pulled her wrist out of the bathtub,  _ how did you get these bruises? _ __   
__   
Maria snatched her wrist back as is she’d been touched by fire. Well aware the marks had indeed been inflicted by Tommy during the night at the Sheparth she felt obligated to defend her employer. 

 

_ It’s -nothing- mum. Leave it be!  _ Her motioned where more clawing and hasty then usual. 

 

But her mother wouldn’t have any of it, torn between frustration and despair she pulled her daughter’s wrists back into view, digging her fingertips into the bruised skin. 

  
_ What if you get pregnant, Maria, think of the shame you’ll bring on our family if you give birth to a bastard. Think of what life that child will have.  _ By now her mother’s eyes had filled up with tears and it caused Maria’s throat to thicken and she had to swallow a few times before she could respond. Dejected, she brought her arms against her chest, hiding the bruises and her exposed body.    
  
_ I haven’t slept with him, nor am I planning to. But I can tell you this mum, I’d rather spread my legs for him then be a slave of Uncle Walter and Aunt Mirjam _ ! Her facial expression matched her agitated motions. Sometimes her mother’s deafness was a blessing, they could easily argue without her rubbernecking sisters evendropping. 

 

_ What life did we have there _ ? Accusingly she pointed her index finger to her mum,  _ You allowed him to beat me, down trotting me and use me. And why? Because you are weak and disabled! And I don’t want to be weak, not one more day in my life! And if I work for Mr Shelby he’ll keep us safe. He has given me his word and for what it matters he’s been keeping his in contrary of uncle Walter. If I work for him, we won’t ever be weak. We won’t be spat on and will be treated with respect. I’ve lost my father and my brother and I’m not going to lose you and my sisters too. There is no other alternative then this mum, besides the poorhouse. And honestly what do you think happens there with poor young girls and a deaf mother? _

 

Her mother’s handicap had never bothered her one day in her life. Mainly because she never knew what it was like to have a hearing mum. As other children where read a story before going to bed, her mum had done the same. In candle light her mother’s expressions and rapid motions where not lesser than when their father read to them. If they got in trouble their mother’s scornful eyes where as powerful enough as their father’s angered voice. 

 

But here in this city, her mother was a second-class citizen. The barrier between her and the rest of the inhabitants, fueled her depression and kept her indoors. Her mother was clueless how cruel this city was and she was  unable to grasp the full extent of the sacrifices her oldest daughter was making to keep their family safe. 

  
_ Mr Shelby might be wicked, mum, but he’s not evil. Besides appearing harsh and violent, he has been kind to me so I’ll take my chances.  _

 

Her mother pointed her finger at her.  _ Your father would never have approved any of this.   _

 

_ Well, he isn’t here to stop me, now is he _ ? Resolute she stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself.  _ Don’t bring this conversation up again, I won’t have it. I have enough on me without your judgment _ . 

  
Roughly she banged her bedroom door shut and sank down on her tattered mattress. It squeaked and smelled moldy but it was hers and hers alone. She owned a house now, it was old, creaked and the smell of bleach still very present. It surely wasn’t a gift, but it was hers and she was proud of it. 

 

Discouraged by her mother’s painful questionnaire she stared at the black boat neck dress she’d bought today. It hung over one of the dinner table chairs she’d claimed, Ada had ensured her Tommy would be pleased with it. She’d given Ada a watery smile and wondered what ‘pleased’ meant in Tommy’s books. 

 

Underneath the chair stood a pair of brightly polished Mary Janes that would probably give her blisters the first few days. But Ada had said it would look chique and pressed that it was the curse of being a woman, if you wanted to be pretty you had to suffer. 

  
She pulled the dress over her damp body and made a little twirl on the tips of her toes. The tea length material felt magically empowering and the candlelight she realised she enjoyed that feeling.    
  
From her bed she picked up a cloche vilted hat, the ribbon matching the color of her dress. It would hid her short outspoken hair and at times could offer shelter, by hiding her face. 

 

_ Your father would never have approved any of this.  _

 

Her mum had been right, her father would probably turn in his grave if he knew what sinister path his oldest daughter had turned. But, in all honesty, what choice did she have? 

  
This was going to be her life now, being a tool inside the web of a criminal gang. With no opportunities to raise questions and rely on the promise of a man that was known for his cutthroat attitude and violent outbursts. 

  
It surprised her how calloused she felt about it, in a strange way she was relieved that it was Tommy and not her uncle Walter who’d be holding her strings and mastering his practice as her puppeteer. She’s seen Tommy perform uncanning forms of unnecessary violence and was more than aware that his habit of alcohol abuse was blown out of all proportions. 

  
But she also remembered his compassion towards his horses and how concerned he’d been during the birth of Precious. There lay kindness somewhere in the depths of his stoic icy blue eyes and from time to time it showed in pragmatic ways. He’d fed her even though it wasn’t his obligation. He’d escorted her home, let her enjoy the horses even though it was passed her working hours. He’d taught her to play and shuffle cards and from time to time even tried to keep his alcohol consumptions to the minimal while she was working around him. He’d even beat up her uncle very badly on her behalf and had pulled everything out of his sleeve to find her back when she was gone. 

  
Sure, she was of good use to him. But he hadn't been obligated to do all those things. So there must be some good in him and honestly that was all she had to rely on. 

 

.-.-. 

 

The Chinese market was crowded and buzzing with activity. Foreign tongues clashed with the thick Brummie accents and the scent of exotic spices, bleach from the dry cleaning and cooked Peking duck filled the streets. 

  
The appearance of the three Peaky brothers raised many eyebrows and heads were turned but no-one was foolish enough to ask about their whereabouts. The Chinese had always been humble to the Blinders and kept out of their pubs and business. To show their good nature no member of the Blinders had to pay to get their suits cleaned, ironed and shoes polished. In return the Blinders kept their Brothel running and kept the coppers from inferring in the deeper layers of their markets; the non-legal part. They sold drugs, morphine and opium mainly spread and dealt to medical institutions because on paper they could make it appear legal. 

  
Cocaine on the other hand was purely for the thrill; no doctor’s note could make a line juridically correct. 

  
“She’s over there,” John nudged his head into the direction of a scarcely dressed Chinese prostitute sulking against the doorframe of her room. The moment she sensed the group of criminals nearing her brothel her mood changed for the better. Adjusting her silk robe to reveal more cleavage she hooked her arm around John’s and wilted against his side.    
  
“Johnny, welcome!” She cheered overly friendly and ran her hand over John’s bicep. 

 

“This is Ai,” John informed his brothers with a smug and blushy face. Tommy gave his younger brother a look of serious wonder and John cleared his throat. “Ai means love and affection, it’s a very common name in China.”    
  
‘Of course’,  Tommy thought, ‘the perfect name for a whore, wonder if her parents had this phenomenal future of hers always in mind.”    
  
“This is Arthur and Tommy,” John motioned to his brother’s and Ai quickly and obediently nodded. 

  
Completely ignoring Arthur she threw all her cheeriness at Tommy and bow her head deep and respectfully. “Tommy, I take you to Red Dragon, yes!”   

 

Arthur -being the inferior leader of the Peaky Blinders- was practically spitting fire as the Chinese prostitute pulled John along and waved to Tommy to follow her. Agitated he growled something underneath his breath and shoved the first poor sod out of his way to show off his testosteron. 

 

Tommy wondered if Arthur’s artery would pop today and tagged after John. It was funny in a way how his official speaker was clinging to his side just as much as John’s whore. Tommy didn’t recall seeing Maria this nervous and although her dress gave her a bit grandeur, her lack of self confidence was obvious, even for a blind. 

  
In broken English, Ai tried to babble to John who in return tried to answer with about three words of Chinese. It was enduring, weren’t it his brother shouldn’t be walking after his dick right this fucking moment. Tommy rolled his eyes as he scanned his younger brother’s smug and sturdiness smile as he tried to have a conversation with the prostitute. Tromping through the streets as if they where his, bragging about guns and money. In Johnny-boy’s books, this was puppy love. 

  
Of course, from all the tits of Small Heath John had to fall for a pair exotic ones. And Ai’s wanton strut along his side only encourage John’s amorous demeanour. 

  
“We’re here,” John informed his brother’s, arm foundly wrapped around Ai’s shoulders, “I’ll wait here with her, ya’know? In case anyone tries to interfere.” 

  
Tommy raised an eyebrow and looked from John to Ai and back to John who uncomfortable ignored his gaze. Did John think he was retarded? On the other hand, he’d be having his hands full keeping Arthur under control. Having another hothead to screw up their entire deal would be a challenge. So he gave John a nod, motioned Arthur to get going and gave Maria’s shoulder a light squeeze for reassurance since the girl looked ready to have a nervous breakdown.

  
They entered through the back-entrance of a restaurant and through a greasy kitchen they were guided into a room inside a room, divided by large red curtains. Inside the smaller space was a sober set of furniture; a low mahony wooden table, a paper skinned room divider and a few scarpet velvet pillows. They only thing that showed a glimpse of their host’s fortune was a very rare Huanghuali square-corner cabinet, decorate with a golden lock. 

 

At the head of the wooden table sat a gauntly elderly man, with a crooked back and no teeth, showed as he sucked absentmindedly on his long ivory pipe. His silver mustache and goatee were long, almost reaching the floor and what was most captivating was a large port-wine stain covering the better half of his face.

 

“So that's why they call him  _ Red dragon,”  _ Arthur whispered a little revolted by the bended figure. 

Their possible new business partner did not seem aware of their presents and absentmindedly continued to play mahjong.

 

“Master Cheng is pleased with your visite,” a petite Chinese man stepped next to the Red Dragon. The man had a tonsure haircut - shaved like a monk and made a solleum appearance -  “I am Yazhou Gu, Master Cheng's humble servant.”

 

Master Cheng did not seem pleased at all, he only seemed interested in his game and gave his guests not even a blink of the eye.

 

Tommy couldn't care less, as long as the end result was a large pile of cocaine, but he could practically feel Arthur's rage boil for being ignored so obviously. 

 

He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, almost as a owner keeping his dog leashed and made a little bow with his head. Arthur seemed less then pleased to show any kind of formality towards the frail elderly on the floor but nodded his head when Tommy squeezed his shoulder tight. 

 

“Sit,” the monk motioned to the pillows on the floor and the three of them sat down; Tommy facing the Red Dragon, Arthur as his right hand and Maria nervously kneeled down on his left.    
  


“So much money and not one fucking chair,” Arthur grumbled under his breath as he uncomfortably shifted on his knees. 

 

Tommy used all his willpower not the laugh at the current sight he was seeing, who could have guest the fierce Peaky leader to do business with the Chinks? On the fucking floor, he’d made Arthur get down on his knees at a powerful ally for the second time in a row. Now that was something to be proud of. 

 

“Master Cheng heard about your proposal,” the monk stated, while the elderly man shifted his mahjong tiles. 

 

Tommy exchanged gazes with Maria and the girl started her translation. “We are humbled by your presence and grateful for your time Red Dragon.” 

 

This time the elderly man paused his game for a mere second and looked up. Small beady eyes moved from Tommy to Maria as he puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. 

 

“Master Cheng did not know you had a female speaker,” Yazhou Gu stated disapprovingly. 

 

“I lost my ability to speak during the war,” Maria translated, “I was declared dead, but my spirit was stubborn and didn't leave my body, I paid a high price to be able to sit here.” 

 

For this information he received another short glance from the Red Dragon. It had been his aim, using his disability as an advantage. The Chinese had an entirely different religion but where at least as superstitious as the Gypsies. Being ‘reborn’ meant wealth and wealth was what they were both after. 

 

Master Cheng's lip pressed firmly around his pipe and whispered a few words with his servant.

“You seem bold Mr Shelby. High spirited, like a dragon.” There was a paused as Master Cheng whispered a few extra words, “We sell you a hundred kilo of the finest cocaine, no more no less. A hundred kilo for a thousand pounds. We need proof of your high spirit.” 

 

Arthur practically fainted hearing the enormous amount and reached over the table towards his brother. 

 

“Tom, we don't have that amount of money, nor the capacity to store and export a hundred kilo of coke.” 

 

Tommy waved his caution away and without any further negotiation held out his hand. 

 

Master Cheng's beady eyes studied him and solemnly took his hand with his own. The fingers of the elderly man's felt like twigs and long fingernails dug into his flesh. 

 

Arthur was gobsmacked and the skin of his face matched the paper room divider. Maria seemed to be astounded by his boldless and translated with a thin voice. “Pleasure doing business with you Master Cheng.” 

 

.-.-.

 

The moment they stepped outside the Chinese restaurant, Arthur's hands grabbed his throat and started to strangle him.   
  


“WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE?!” His brother shouted fuming. “We don't have a thousand pound, not even if we sell our boxing ring to Zilpha, not by far!” 

 

This was one of the moments Tommy severely hated the fact that he couldn't yell back. He grabbed his brother's wrists and tried to unclench the iron grip around his neck. When that failed he settled with a firm punch against the nose because black dots started to blur his vision. 

Arthur shouted from pain and frustration and let him go as blood seeped from his nostrils. 

 

“Fine, fuck it! You fucking take care of this mess!” Arthur spat and marched away. 

 

Tommy sighted and rubbed his bloody knuckles with a handkerchief. Brother Love made him want to run after Arthur but pride kept him in place. His brother should know better then doubting him. The deal was set. And all what remained was getting the money. 

  
“We have a deal,” Maria translated to John and Ai who’d witnessed the entire choking scene. 

  
“Arthur doesn’t seem happy,” John said, stating the obvious. 

  
“Fuck Arthur,” Maria translated after a few moments in which Tommy used the ‘fuck’ sign at least for three more curses to address his older brother’s lack of trust, “we have a deal, we’re expanding business. And business needs to keep going.” 

  
‘Because, that keeps me going,’ Tommy thought as he lit a much needed cigarette. 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N Sorry for the long delay, I hope this long chapter made up for it! A lot of steps have been made in this one. First of Maria is settling as Tommy’s personal speaker. Second, I like how John is being a lovesick puppy around a prostitute. Third, they met the Red Dragon. An interesting character who’ll be a big part of their cocaine empire. I also like how Tommy used his disability as an advantage.**

 

**The Peaky Blinders will need to raise their game in order to play with the big guys, luckily Tommy never does anything without a plan.**

 

**Once again, Comet96, thank you so much for your beta-reading!**

 

**Also, I think 100 kilo of cocaine for 1000 pound could be a deal. If anyone disagrees let me know, I’m not very familiar with the coke prices back in the day.**

 

**All feedback/reviews will kindly be run through Mr Shelby’s personal secretary, please leave some.**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	21. Breaking bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want to own a bakery?” Polly spoke, words completely blank of judgment. “A bakery.”

 

.-.-.

 

“You are selling Precious?”   
  
By now this was the third time she'd repeated that question. And by now he’d made it very obvious that yes, as matter of fact, he was selling _his_ horse, as any horse owner was entitled to.  
  
The utter silence from her behalf spook volumes and for a long time Tommy ignored the tiny bit of guilt jagging into the thing he dared to call a heart.

 

To ruin her entire day, he also informed her that Curly had healed from his injury and would slowly be taking over their work in the stables by the end of the month.    
  
Ignoring her became his second nature and he turned a deaf ear to her snottering. Instead he checked the young stallion’s hooves and tried not to look into his dark spirited eyes. Precious was a wonderful horse, kind and curious of all new wonders his short life brought him. He’d make a fine racehorse and would win his next owner numerous prizes.  

  
Yet, it pained him to sell a foul this young. He brought Precious into the world and bonded with the animal. So had Maria, and the girl was taking his decision hard. 

 

_ Get to work,  _ he ordered her when he couldn’t take her whimpering any longer. She hesitated for a moment, then disappeared into Johnny Jumper’s box without saying a word. 

  
Left alone with his thoughts he lit a cigarette and walked outside to clear his head. Their boxing ring in Wolfhamsfort was being sold to Zilpha. It would take some time to clear all the paperwork. Although the betting was illegal, the property was legally bought by the Blinders and therefore needed some mediation with layers and other vultures. 

  
They had two weeks to scrap enough money together and seal the deal with the Chinese. They had one change to show the Red Dragon their high spirit. If they failed to keep their part of the deal, the deal would be off, as would every other deal in the future. 

  
So within the next fourteen days Tommy needed to come up with a plan.

  
Good thing he was Tommy Shelby after all. 

  
With well trained swift, Polly seemed to appear out of thin air, angered and agitated as he’d expected. 

  
“You’re actually selling the Wolfhamsfort, have you lost your head?!” Polly spat at him. He’d cut her out of every deal and business arrangement .That betrayal and disappointment ran along with her fury. “I asked you to be Arthur’s right hand, not his mad dog! I told you  _ we _ would be running our business. You were suppose to come to me so that  _ we  _ can make decisions.” Her face darkened with fury although she did her best to hide her heartfelt feelings. 

  
“For Christ sake, you really plan to burn all of our bridges so you can shake hands with the Chinks?” 

  
Exhaling the smoke of his first cigarette he nodded and earned a slap across his cheek. 

 

He’d expected worse and kept his arms stiffly along is body as he turned the other. 

  
Polly’s raised hand got stuck mid air, his submissiveness striking her harden then any form of aggression would. Ever since Polly stepped into their lives, she’d been aware of the utter violence their father had used to rule his house and keep his kids and wife in line. Tommy had never so much slipped a word of it. But he knew Ada had told Polly in detail of the harm their father’s iron fist caused. Their father once nearly choked the life out of him for bringing home a stray kitten. It had been their secret to keep and he and his siblings had solemnly promised to protect the furry little thing against their father. After two weeks Tibbles escaped from Tommy’s wardrobe and unleashed their father’s fury. Tommy had been his main target because he’d been the one to bring the animal home and bribe his siblings into keeping their mouths shut. Ada told Polly how Tommy’s face first turned red, then purple, then blue when he got repeatedly jammed against the wall and shook by Arthur Sr.’s calloused hands. If Arthur and John hadn’t jumped up and down, screaming their throats raw to keep their father from murdering his second son, Tommy most likely would have died. 

  
Being thrown down as a piece of filth he’d gasped for air, his throat thick and bruised badly. He hadn’t been able to find the strength to flee the scene. The Shelby children had to watch how their father filled the sink and drowned their kitten. The sound of Tibbles mortified mews, the splashing of water and the utter dead silence that filled their kitchen ran in his ears all throughout his teenage years. The mewing was casted out and replaced by more unnecessary violence; gunshots, dying horses, crying men, and shovels...the bloody shovels. 

  
With his father’s cold gaze he stared down aunt Pol who lowered her hand in shame. 

  
He snapped his fingers, a cue for Maria to take on her role as his speaker. The girl bashfully appeared from the box, she must have overheard the smack to his face and clearly didn’t want to be in the middle of this. 

  
“I’m not having this conversation with you if you’re using this  _ child _ ,” Polly threw at Maria through gritted teeth. 

  
Maria seemed to shrink two sizes and was midspin on her heels when Tommy grabbed her elbow and tugged her backwards, agitatedly kicking his foot down on the floor. Hesitant Maria watched his tempered motions and started to speak.

  
“I...She’s staying, I’m not going back to writing every fucking word down or pointing at things like a bloody simpleton. I have a voice, you may not like it, but I do.” Maria’s cheeks flushed and closed her mouth, unable to look either of them in the eye. Unaware of the compliment he’d given her Tommy cleared his throat and scanned the face of his aunt. Polly was holding back an awful lot but was able to keep her feelings under control. She didn’t allow him a glimpse of her thoughts and smiled unhonoured and coldly. 

  
“Fine, if you’re feeling more secure with your speaker present we’ll have this conversation with six eyes.” Her words where a blow below the belt and they both knew it. But Tommy let it be, he’d been backstabbing her from the moment he made up his mind about expanding their business and not informing her. 

  
“I want you to buy a bakery,” Maria translated to Polly, “a small one. The bakery at Bethram Road.” Baffled Polly stared at him, questioning her ears and probably his sanity. 

  
“You want to own a bakery?” Polly spoke, words completely blank of judgment. “A bakery.” 

  
He nodded and Maria filled in the rest. “It’ll need a few workers who practice the craft of baking bread.” When Polly’s mouth dropped to the floor he started to explain his plan.

 

“We need a place to store a hundred kilo of cocaine and although we own half of all the coppers on the street we can’t transport it all at once, now can we? But, a baker can pick up his sacks of flour without ringing any alarms. If we pack the cocaine per ten kilo and carry it across town in flour sacks no-one will bat an eye. No copper will stop and question an honest baker bringing his products to his store. It’ll resolve our transportation problem.” 

 

When Polly didn’t interrupt him and closed her mouth to actually  _ listen to him _ he continued. “The legal parts of the bakery will sell bread, as a cover up. But let’s say we’ll also sell another sort of  _ dough _ . If you cut a bread and fill it up with a little extra we’ve also resolved a big part of our exportation problem. It’ll need an expert on stealth, someone who’s good with paperwork. Someone who can stay under the radar yet have a connection to the coppers.”

  
Polly glanced him over, letting all his information sink in. “You want  _ me _ to run the bakery?”   
  
Humoured, one frown went up and Tommy smirked while Maria filled in. “You’re the one paying the coppers their fee, aren’t you? Plus if Arthur runs the Bakery there probably won’t be any  _ dough _ left for the paying customers.”

 

“Insanity does run although our family,” Polly muttered astounded by her nephews wild plans. 

  
“Perhaps insanity runs this family Pol,” Tommy smiled at her warmly and held out his hand.    
Hesitant Polly crossed hers but thoughtfully said. “I’ll see what I can do. Try not to sell our fucking house in the meantime.” 

  
It was as good as their damaged bond would allow them to warm up to each other, so it was good enough for the moment. A truce, a settlement, and a humble step forward in the Shelby’s new empire.” 

 

.-.-.

 

Maria made herself a promise; all wicked and illegal things she would overhear would be firmly stored in the back of her mind. She would not allow herself to question her employer. Or think of the serious consequences all gang related schemes and settlement might have. 

  
She honestly didn’t feel obligated to go to any law enforcement and speak of the heinous crimes her employer had in mind. 

  
Her judgement of right and wrong had been altered ever since she moved to Small Heath. And maybe in this damned city there wasn’t a right nor wrong. What would be good for her and her family, that was what mattered now. 

  
Making sure the Shelby business was running smoothly, that was what mattered. Being presentable and present as his speaker, that was what mattered. She’d eagerly turn a blind eye to his crimes and keep his secrets safe, in order to keep a roof over her head. 

  
She’d gone to the market, spent some money and time there. Being a part of the loud mass of Small Heath no longer bothered her. What Ada had said was true, a wallflower would be trampled. But being Tommy’s personal speaker had earned her a degree of respect and fame.   


People knew her, maybe not by name, but they were aware of her purpose. The market vendors didn’t try to overprice her and where polite. In return she’d keep her chin up and her back straight. 

 

She felt like she’d earned her place and wondered if this had been God’s intention. Taking away all what was good in her life and replacing the safeness of the cornfield for the toughness of the smog. Was it a test? To question her believes and the goodness of Him? 

  
Why would He destroy everything she had and replace it with a feasting lump of corruption inside her stomach? What good could come of it? 

  
Lost in her thoughts she suddenly noticed her two cousins approach her. Her chin-up attitude disappeared as snow for the sun and she quickly lowered her gaze in shame. 

  
They crossed each other without a word. Carl, the oldest, spat at her feet and his younger brother sniggered. 

  
Maria didn’t react, felt that she deserved their loathing. In their eyes it was her fault their father spoke with a lisp ever since Tommy burned his tongue. 

  
Probably because of her lack of response her cousins turned on their feet and started to follower her, close enough to be in ears reach. 

  
“I wonder if the carpet matches the drapes.” Carl sniggered to his younger brother Steven, referring to her short dyed hair. 

  
“Father says she’s a lushfull harlot. She’ll go to hell for fornigating with Gypsy scoundrels.” Her cousin continued. 

  
Bile started to rise and she could taste it in her mouth. Clutching the handle of her basket she speed up her steps. Just a few more blocks and she’d be home. Then her heart stopped, what if they would follow her home? Then her uncle would know where she lived. That thought alone terrified her beyond words. 

  
“Slut!” Her younger cousin yelled at her. “You’re a whore!” 

  
A tiny rock flew right beside her temple and startled she dropped her basket. Howling laughter echoed through the narrow street and she realised she was alone. 

  
Her gained confidence deteriorated and she was pushed out of balance. 

  
She scraped her palms raw on the stones of Small Heath to keep herself from falling face first to the ground. On all fours she could hear the haunting laughter of her cousins and tears from utter helplessness formed in her eyes. 

  
No, she wasn’t going to bear this humiliation, she’d enough of that. Although she was outnumbered, she wouldn’t allow them to laugh and spit at her. Balling her raw hands into fists she reached inside her basket and jumped up. 

  
Her cousins hadn’t expected her stern reaction and froze for a moment. Using their surprise in her advantage Maria turned the lid of the pepperjar and shook some in the palm of her hand. 

  
“ Lačhi či tahrin,” she muttered. When she worked with the horses she’d overheard Charlie use the phrase to Tommy a few times. She didn’t have a clue what it meant and she probably didn't pronounce it right. 

  
Unfamiliar with the Romania language she repeated the phrase again and sprinted forward to her oldest cousin. In one motion she blew a full hand of pepper in his face and pushed him back. 

  
Completely stunned by her action Carl inhaled the powder and fell backwards, down on his arse, in a puddle of mudd. Squinting his eyes to rid himself of the stinging haze of pepper he started sneezing and coughing. 

  
Steven watched his choking and crying brother with horror. “You bewitched him!” he shouted alarmed and took a step away from Maria. “You bewitched him!” 

  
Carl tried to speak but failed and set into another attack of sneezing and gurgled up a mouth full of saliva. 

  
Secretly enjoying the fear she struck, Maria took another step closer, twisting her tongue to repeat the foreign phrase. “Lačhi či tahrin.” 

  
Hearing the Romania words Carl crawled back, wiping his eyes to clear his vision and used his younger brother’s arms to get back on his feet. 

  
“Witch!” Steven cried out, supporting his brother, “witch!” Limping and sneezing Steven drew back like a dog kicked by its owner. 

  
As David versus Goliath Maria watched her two cousins flee the scene and although her palms burned and her dress was dirty she felt triumphant and victorious. 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: For the readers who hoped Alfie would appear by reading the title. I have to disappoint you, he won’t. A) right now there is no logical reason for him to be in the story as I’m following an alternative storyline. And B) I fear that if he’d meet Mute-Tommy he won’t be able to ever shut up.**

 

**Things are running smoothly, the characters that should be liking each other are getting back at the right foot. MuteTommy is a clever cookie with his plan to open a bakery. And I like that Maria is excelling herself, she needs to in order to be Tommy’s speaker.**

 

**Leave ‘em reviews aye!**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	22. Pokerface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I should have warned you Peakies, I am the best player in this city,” Russo stated arrogant and dug his fingers into the pile of money, drugs, and heirlooms.

 

.-.-.

 

_ I’ve heard you cursed your cousin?  _ __   
  
So news really did travel fast through the streets of Small Heath. Maria felt a little embarrassed and tried to dodge Tommy’s humoured glance. She’d been summoned by a sulky John in the early morning to come to Watery lane. John had been informing her that he wasn’t Tommy’s fucking servant and that she needed to hurry the fuck up. She still wasn’t on John’s good side and wondered if she ever would be.   
  
When she arrived she was greeted by one of Polly’s unconcealed death glares and she quickly hurried off into the kitchen. As expected, Tommy was doing a fine impression of a chimney and reading the morning paper. He looked rather well. Not only had he changed his former workers outfit to his three piece suit, he’d also had a clean shave. His hair was immaculately groomed and his piercing blue eyes weren’t bloodshot, but clear and awake. 

  
Both of his eyebrows wiggled up when she didn’t explain herself immediately and he puffed his cigarette in expectation. 

  
“They were mocking me,” she defended herself although she didn’t think her little act needed any defending to. She faced a man who’d knock your teeth out for looking at him the wrong way. 

  
“They threw rocks at me and pushed me down,” she summed up, “there was no-one around to help me. I can’t fight, so I tricked them.” 

  
Tommy sighed as if he'd been speaking with a dumb small child and tipped his cigarette on an ashtray before staring back at her,  _ You think I let Holy Mary walk through our sinful streets? How do you think I know you’ve been sprinkling Gypsy curses around like a she-devil?  _

  
Maria pursed her lips, of course he’d have her followed. Their pact wasn’t enough for him to trust her, not after her first disappearance. He needed to be in complete control, at all times. 

  
_ My good man would have stepped in though, but as the rumours are speaking for them, I don’t think you need any protection.  _ Tommy continued with his lips twisting up,  _ What did you say to scared the boys? _

 

“ Lačhi či tahrin,” Maria muttered, pronouncing the words wrong from the entertained look of Tommy. “What does it even mean? It’s not a real curse is it?”

  
_ It means ‘good morning’,  _ Tommy signed suppressing a smile,  _ you’ve bewitched your cousin with a good morning _ .    
  


Silently Maria was glad with his humoured answer and dared to let out a breath she’d been holding ever since Tommy started the conversation. She’d half expected him to scold her for using his mother’s tongue in a disgraceful way. 

  
_ By now, your uncle tries to convince every listening ear me and my kin made you sign a pact with the devil,  _ Tommy informed her. _ The easily convinced think you’re a witch. The idiotic ones think you might be dangerous.  _ This time he did smile.  _ Congratulations m’lady you’ve earned yourself a name.  _

_   
_ Her employer studied her and she noticed a new kind of sentiment in his gaze, it was respect. 

  
Relieved she settled down at his kitchen table. Tommy motioned her to get some tea and something to eat. Hunger being her second nature, she quickly started to prep herself a sandwich and poured the two of them a cup of tea. 

  
_ As you know, I’ve been making plans to collect the money for our new Chinese allies,  _ Tommy signed to her.  _ We’re not making enough progress, so I’ve come up with a drastic solution. One you will not like.  _ He pressed out his cigarette before he continued,  _ I’ll be having a meeting with Russo. A friendly one, at the Shepherd. Partly to do a little chit-chat and melding walls, but purely for profit. Russo loves to play cards and everyone knows he doesn’t play to lose. He will though, that’ll be your job. You shuffle cards, in our favor. Not all the time, but at the -right- time.  _

_   
_ All confidence and warmth left her body as the colour faded from her face. He wanted to bring her back to that God awful place? To face the man who sold her body as if she was nothing? 

  
_ Think of it as a way to avenge yourself,  _ Tommy added,  _ stripping a man from his money is stripping a man from his pride. And wouldn’t you love doing that? _

_   
_ That prospect sounded promising and since she had a taste of punishing her former tyrants, the task would be most fulfilling. Yet, the thought of being near the Shepherd gave her the chills. 

  
Tommy did something unexpected, he clasped her hand with his own and squeezed it lightly before bringing his back to be able to communicate with her. 

  
_ You’d be doing me a huge favor.  _

_   
_ The delicate gesture threw her off guard. His shiftments between the cold cutthroat gang leader and the kind silenced man she became fond of in the stables made her head spin. His bottled up rage and self loathing roared in between both sides. Occasionally the softer one would win when he allowed himself to. 

  
If only he would allow himself to left his softer side win half of the time. 

  
_ I promised to keep you safe, I’m intending to keep that promise _ , Tommy added trustfully,  _ no-one will touch you and if so I’ll be breaking their fucking fingers.  _

_   
_ She gulped, very aware of the truth of his words. And honestly, now that she thought of it, him asking her was just a matter of formality. If she’d refuse he could simply ship her off to a poor house. Or at least use it as a threat, sooner or later she’d give in anyhow. 

  
“Please don’t let me be near Russo,” she pleaded, “he reeks of self indulgence.”

  
Her answered pleased him,  _ then let’s do something about that _ . 

 

.-.-.

 

Russo greeted his guests with a firm handshake. Tommy and Arthur received a list of compliments. When Russo’s eyes noticed Maria’s frail figure trying to practically disappeared behind Tommy, the Italian made a humble down through his knees and extended his arm. Because of formality, Maria took his and snatched it right back after receiving a kiss on the back of her hand. Although she appeared more classy then last time she was at the Shepard, Maria still fell out of place. She tilted her new bucket hat forward and shied away from Russo. 

  
Tommy was very much aware that Russo’s elegant manners towards Maria were plainly because she was his. Russo didn’t have the slightest respect for women and in general would ignore a lady in the presence of men. He was well known for his cruelty towards his working-girls and the rumours of prostitutes having gone missing from the Shepard were well spread. 

  
Russo arranged the largest table at the balcony, a great way for him to show of his entire club.    
While Arthur was busy toasting with the Italian and observing all feminine beauty serving them with every snap of the finger, Tommy was occupied to keep himself from slamming down his drinks too fast. 

  
Yes, he was nervous, but not half as nervous as his personal speaker. She’d squeezed herself in between Arthur and Tommy and refused all drinks and appetizers. She was practically glued to his left side and he could feel her tremble and noticed how she gnawed at her lower lip.

  
He wanted to assure her he had her back, but suppressed taking her clenched fist with his hand. Last time they were in this club it had been his hands that forced her down on a bed and overpowered her. Being surrounded by the same environment, the same smells, his touch would probably the last thing that could comfort her. 

 

But when Russo stood up from his seat and leaned over the table to cling his glass with Tommy’s, Maria instinctively drew back and clutched his hand underneath the table. Her reaction wasn’t noticed by anyone other then Tommy, simply because no-one cared about the amount of stress his speaker was enduring. Their humble touch remained unnoticed and Russo sat back down, laughing along with Arthur who was having a splendid time with all the expensive champagne and free wealth. 

  
Keeping their secret entanglement underneath the table, he squeezed her hand tightly and started to draw small circles on the soft skin of the back of her hand. He noticed how she was taking in deep breaths of air and shakinly exhaling them.

  
She didn’t let go of his hand, but loosened her tight grasp. 

 

With his free hand he brought his glass of champagne to his mouth and in silence admired his lass’ bravery; sitting at the wolf’s table. 

  
Catching Arthur’s gaze he gave his brother a quick nod and Arthur sat up, throwing a pack of cards on the table. 

  
“I’ve heard you’re a vigorous poker player,” Arthur spoke and pulled out the cards, “what do you say to a game? There is nothing more rewarding then an evening gambling with allies.” 

  
The word allies seemed to speak to Russo, but when Arthur started to shuffle his deck of cards the Italian interfered. 

  
“Aren’t you Gypsy’s famous for card tricks?” He huffed denigrating, then suddenly aware he was disrespecting his guests roots. 

  
Arthur laughed but it was a cold one. “Ay, we are.” As pre-arranged to the meeting with Russo Arthur slammed down the cards at Maria’s empty plate. “Let her shuffle the cards then ‘ey?”

  
Russo’s reaction was what Tommy expected it to be. Because of his utter disrespect towards women the Italian wouldn’t question the ‘weaker’ sex. 

  
“Let the bella deal the cards,” Russo agreed and pulled out a package of Cuban cigars. 

  
Tommy politely engaged in the luxury his host provided. Soon the champagne got replaced by something stronger with ice and the vanilla flavoured tobacco lured him into a state of insuperable. 

  
“Gambling ain’t half as rewarding when there isn’t any money involved,” Artur stated then and slammed down a stack of bills. 

  
Russo, extravagant and self observed as he was, didn’t hesitate to throw in a fair pack of bills. 

  
Tommy’s lips sucked on his cigar, thrilled their host did exactly what he hoped he would do. 

He felt impregnable and took the card he’d received from Maria. The first three games were won by Russo. It was Arthur who brought the cocaine to the table and carved three thick lines. It wasn’t just to throw Russo off, if their cocaine empire would extent it would be good to sprinkle their merchandise around. Plus cocaine made an average man feel invincible, no doubt a egocentric prick like Russo would be in pure ecstasy within minutes. And in order for them to completely pluck this chicken, they needed Russo to feel invincible.  

  
The game continued, they won some they lost some. The pile of prize money however grew by the minute and soon turned into a small fortune. Russo was pleased with the way the game was going and ordered another round of drinks and insisted Arthur to carve three more lines. 

  
Soon the pupils of the inexperienced drug user grew the size of saucers, while Tommy was still sipping from his first drink of the night. Arthur was winding Russo up, his brother was good at that. An expensive pocket watch ended on the prize table, it had been from Russo’s great-great grandfather. In return Tommy threw in his silver lighter, once stolen from his drunk father. But Russo didn’t need to know that, so he left their table host under the impression it was a family heirloom. 

  
When Tommy was content with the extension of the profits on the table he quietly tapped against Maria’s foot. 

  
The girl didn’t show any sign of her cue and started dealing the cards. 

  
He lost. While shock filled his system he kept his face in shape and gave his speaker a sideway glance. She ignored him and started dealing cards again.    
  
He tapped against her feet, harder this time. But the next round he lost again, to Russo’s great delight.   
  
_ What are you doing _ ? Tommy signed to her while she shuffled a new game of cards.    
  
Maria smiled politely to him and nodded, turning herself in Russo’s direction.    
  
“Mr Shelby would like to make the game a little more thrilling,” she informed the greedy Italian.    
  
Tommy’s jaw dropped, he didn’t know if he should feel betrayed or shocked or both.    
  
_ What are you doing!?  _ He signed to Maria again and the girl plainly ignored him. Tommy swallowed thickly, rage and helplessness consuming him. He was very aware that he couldn’t make a scene and was forced to play along.    
  
“What does Mr Shelby have in mind?” Russo asked in return, thrill and fired up from all the alcohol and cocaine.    
  
_ Stop it, stick to the plan! _ Tommy signed to her, trying to keep the rage from his face and his motions under control.    
  
“We’d like to raise the prize, with the Garrison.”    
  
Now even Arthur seemed aware that their scheme was taking turn. But since Maria was doing her job as his speaker, he didn’t interfere. And since Tommy had no way of communicating to his brother directly, there was no stopping whatever the hell Maria was planning. 

 

His speaker started dealing the cards and Tommy quickly glanced at his; three aces, maybe if he played well he could gain a flush.

  
“Do you raise with the Shepherd?” She questioned the Italian. 

  
Russo hesitated for a moment. Maybe it was the amount of alcohol and chemicals. Or maybe it was because he was being challenged directly by a girl. Whatever it was, the Italian agreed and held out his hand to Arthur.    
  
“You're pub for my club, may the best signore win.” 

  
The dancing girls, the music, all the rich and extravagant luxury suddenly seemed irrelevant. The smokey vanilla flavour tasted stale in his mouth and Tommy’s fingers trembled around his glass of Whiskey. 

  
He’d been the first player so he was the first to show his cards. A  _ flush _ , a spade king, joker, queen and a ten. 

  
Russo smirked and dapped down his cards, _ four of a kind _ , with four queens. How suitable for Russo, he’d been gaining more fortune by using his women.

  
Tommy sucked in the air through his nostrils and gripped the edge of the table. 

 

He lost. 

  
“I should have warned you Peakies, I am  _ the best _ player in this city,” Russo stated arrogant and dug his fingers into the pile of money, drugs, and heirlooms. 

  
Arthur had been silent the entire time, then slapped the Italian’s hands away from the wealth. 

  
Painfully slow, he started to reveal his cards. First a five of hearts, then a four of hearts, followed by a three of hearts. On the table lay  _ three of a kind _ , a good hand. But not enough to rule over Russo’s deck. 

  
Arthur took his time, taking another sip from his Whiskey and another huff of his cigar. Blowing circles into Russo’s direction, he showed his fourth card; a two of hearts. A  _ flush _ , a great hand, but still not enough to claim victory. 

  
It was enough to worry Russo who sat back in his seat, suddenly overwhelmed by anxiety. While sweat poured down the Italian’s head, Tommy feared that if he squeezed his glass a bit harder it would shatter in a thousand pieces. 

  
Arthur showed his final card, the ace of hearts. 

  
He had a _ straight flush _ . His fucking brother had a straight flush. None of the men at the table said a word. All three stared at Arthur's last card, two astounded, and one in awful terror. 

  
“Well, who won?” Maria gullebly asked, putting the rest of the cards back in the package. 

  
“I did…” Arthur stammered quietly, still gobsmacked and his left eyelid twitching. “I won. I  _ won. _ I WON!” 

  
Arthur jammed his hands into the prizes and threw the bills up into the air, laughing and although he’d later deny it, tears watered his eyes. 

  
Russo slammed his hands down on the expensive wood of his -soon to lose- table and shouted a long line of Italian curses. A bottle of champagne smashed into one of the pillars and he whipped off a set of glasses from the table.

  
While the two men made enough noise to cast over the music Tommy and Maria remained in silence. 

  
“Isn’t it a horrible feeling, to be powerless while there is a whole crowd around you?” Maria stated matter of factly to Tommy. “At mercy, unable to prevent yourself from being possibly harmed or affected by someone else. A horrible feeling. Luckily, I’m just a stupid little git, shuffling cards.” She eyed at Arthur’s victoriously throwing bills in the air. “A good thing though, that your brother is such a marvelous card player.” 

 

.-.-.

 

At exactly four past midnight, Russo signed over his precious club to the Peaky Blinders. Hot tempered, the previous owner demolished a few paintings, flung more bottles against the walls but eventually wrote down his signature in order to make the deal legal. 

  
The Italians left their playground like dogs with their tails between their legs. Arthur ordered a pack of the Lee boys to guard the place, inside and out. The Shepherd might be theirs on paper, but the Italians might retaliate later on and try to claim back what used to be theirs. Ever since Arthur got on Zilpha’s good side the Lee’s were eager to do their dirty jobs. With the prospect of being granted their boxing ring in the Wolfhamsher a new cooperation blossomed. 

  
To Tommy, the Wolfhamsher could burn to the ground for all he cared. With the Shepherd and the small fortune Russo gambled away, they had more than enough resources to pay the Chinese. 

  
Arthur closed his gained club for the night, so they could have a private party. His older brother truly believed it had been his great poker skills that caused him to beat Russo. The real reason of their new ownership, sat quietly at the bar sipping at her soda drink. 

  
_If you ever speak for me again, I will have you and your family wish they had a bed in the poorhouse,_ Tommy darkly signed to her, joining her at the bar. 

  
“Don’t worry, I won’t. We’re even now,” Maria stated coldly, “and you own a club.” 

  
Tommy decided to use his inability to speak and didn’t reply. He was torn, on the one side she stabbed him deeply in his pride by completely ignoring his demands and using his handicap against him. On the other hand, she played their cards well and now they owned the biggest club in Small Heath. 

 

‘A place with big tits’, as Arthur would put it. 

  
“Maybe, now that the club is yours, you can improve the conditions for the working girls,” Maria started carefully, twirling with her straw, “some of the girls are underage. All of them are underpaid. Russo ruled this place without a care for their safety and health. Maybe you can make a change, for the good.” 

  
_ When did you start planning this out?  _ Tommy walked behind the bar so he could face her and tilted his head when she tried to hide underneath the cap of her filt bucket hat. 

  
Unable to flee from his penetrating stare Maria nervously cleared her throat. “It was in the spur of the moment. Russo was just so full of himself. And he’s wicked, he deserved to lose and be downtrodden for once. And then I remembered what you said. That this would be the perfect way to avenge myself. So I did, I stripped him from his money, his pride and his biggest way of income. And I have to say, I loved every single bit of it.” 

 

Tommy observed his speaker for a moment, occupying himself with finding a clean glass and a strong drink. Maria had changed. The quiet and gullible stable maiden with the habit of turning the other cheek had evolved. 

  
He felt a strange sense of remorse because he knew it was his doing that she made such drastic change in character. It was him and his way of life that had tainted her presence and future. 

  
In a way he treasured her innocence and at the same time wanted to corrupt her. In his world there was no place for a bashful and fragile damsel in distress. If she’d keep afloat in the criminal centre of Small Heath, he couldn’t afford her to remain weak. 

  
Because weakness is what will get you killed. And her kindness might be her poison. 

  
Tommy elegantly lifted her hat from her scalp and placed it aside on the bar. Leaning in close he noticed how the boyish cut did nothing to change her petite and girlish appearance. She would never be his well-presentable armcandy during meetings. She was too soft spoken to inflict any real fear in the eyes of his opponents or possible business partners. Her voice lacked the harsh Brummie accent. She would never silence a man with one piercing stare. 

  
But she’d been the reason that turned his path towards self destruction into a T split. Although Tommy was anything but religious. The fact that she came into his life when he was on the verge of killing himself slowly but steady, meant something. 

 

_ Do not  _ ever _ disrespect me like you did tonight,  _ he signed to her firmly,  _ I’ll talk with Arthur about improving the working conditions in here, Holy Mary.  _ And he sarcastically made a small cross in the air. 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: I’m still not sure if Tommy used his soft side at the beginning of the chapter to manipulate Maria into participating in his skeme. Or that -from time to time- he can be a real boy with emotions and feelings.**

 

**I’ve never played poker in my life, so if I’ve made a mistake please point it out to me and I’ll change it.**

 

**Russo got what he deserved and now Arthur owns a club ‘with big tits’, and Maria showed that she has a pair of balls. MuteTommy still likes to be a sourmooded ass but I think this slowburn might spark any day now.**

 

**Feedback would be highly worshipped,**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	23. Pandora's box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All posh girls smoke Holy Mary, don’t be such a goody-two-shoes.”

 

 

.-.-.

 

“What’s she to you?” Polly questioned, blunt and to the point when her nephew staggered down the stairs. It was early in the morning, the two brother’s had returned at dawn. As she recalled from their unsteady feet and slamming doors that shook their entire household, both of them had have been drinking more than just one pint. 

  
Miraculously, Tommy looked rather equipped and had taken the time to shower. His three piece suit was impeccable and untarnished. Tommy’s self confidence grew and it started to show. His aura of pristine and class was in complete contrast of the broken persona he’d been back at the stables. 

  
It left Polly with mixed feelings. Torn. The angel on her shoulder whispered in her ear how well Tommy was. So much closer to his former self, no longer weighed down by his disability. There lay new restored hope in his eyes. His bold way of running their family business however, didn’t settle with Polly. 

  
The devil on her shoulder reminded her firmly that her nephew was being influenced by a lass. One that Polly handpicked herself, but a lass however. And since all men followed their dick, it was Polly’s job to firmly remind Tommy to keep his distance with that gorger wench. 

  
“Well?” Polly pressed when her nephew rubbed the back of his neck and lazely slumbered down at the kitchen table. “Answer me!” 

  
Her nephew innocently tilted his head, his nescience a facade. She knew that stubborn stern look of his. 

  
“The girl, why take her along with you and Arthur to the brothel?” Polly continued her interrogation, repelled by his careless behaviour. He’d placed them all on thin ice now that the Blinders where in charge of the Shepherd. The wrath of the Italian wasn’t one to underestimate. Russo had a mean streak, even his relatives and hush-money couldn’t silence his reputation. 

  
No, Polly did not want Russo as an enemy. And the fact that Arthur and Tommy had snatched his club from under his ass was a big mistake. 

  
“Thomas, answer me!” 

  
Unblemished Tommy stared at her and bobbed his finger against his Adam’s apple then shrugged his shoulders, playing the simple minded mute. She was sick of that role. 

  
“You’ve insulted Russo the first time you smashed his club. Why take the girl back to his place,  _ especially  _ after dragging her out of it, with so much bombast. Do not take me for a fool, Thomas, first you’ve disrespected the Italians and now you try to outsmart them.”

  
Her words stroked his ego, pride and hauteur glowed in his eyes and a coy smile dared to creep upon upon his face. 

 

It made her explode. “If you stare at me with such self-righteous smile any longer I will slap it right off!” 

  
Tommy rolled his eyes and took his notebook out of his inside pocket.  _ How do you know?  _ He scribbled down fast, not minding his horrible handwriting. 

 

“Arthur told me how he won the Shepherd during your poker game. It’s not that  _ hard _ to put two and two together. See, Arthur can’t bluff to save his life and Russo isn’t the man who’d lose his business by a simple game. You’d never been so reckless, Thomas. You are not a fool but you bloody well are acting like one. And there is only one thing that causes men like you to turn into complete morons.” 

  
Somehow he thought her rant was amusing. His brows darted up and he chuckled, staring humoured at his aunt. 

  
“You’re jealous. Russo nearly took your lass and made her his working girl. I’m not blind and I’ve known you for long. He took what was yours and you’ve stolen what’s his, to get even.” 

  
For a moment Tommy’s face was expressionless, staring blankly at her, he slowly drew his hand up and tapped his index finger against his temple. 

  
“Oh, don’t tell me I’m crazy and seeing things wrong. You’ve been thinking with your cock ever since you’ve dragged your lass out of the Shepherd. I know the details, Arthur told me. You hired her as a working-girl and had her upstairs for a while. So is that what it takes to turn Tommy fucking Shelby into a bloody idiot? One girl spreading her legs?!” 

  
Tommy’s expression made him look as if he was contemplating a murder but he didn’t respond. 

  
“You cannot afford to grow reckless! We cannot afford to become this reckless! So for God’s sake, whatever feelings you have for her, away with it! There are a million’s of whores in this city you can use. Hell, I think you practically got half of them on your payroll right now!”  

  
Frustration getting the best of him, Tommy drew his fists down on the table and there was a muscle twitching in his jaw. His chair scrunched loudly over the floor and Polly watched his tense backside march up into the hallway, taking his jacket. A few seconds later the front door slammed shut. 

 

‘That could have gone worse’, she thought sarcastically and huffed. ‘Men, all bloody morons…’ 

  
Luckily for the sake of the Shelby family there was another woman in their middle. One with a sassy mouth and a complete rubberneck. One most of them underestimated and would be able to receive information from a whole other source. 

  
Without finishing her morning tea, Polly marched up the stairs and bursted into Ada’s bedroom. The teen was hidden in a fortress of blankets and pillows. Pushing off a layer of cushions the sleepy head of Ada appeared, hair as a bird’s nest and eyes puffy and unfocussed. 

  
“Is it morning already?” The young woman murmured, lips perched and arms stretching lazely. Ignoring Ada’s morning dread, Polly sat down and brought her face close to her niece’s.

  
“Ada, you know how we all always treat you like a child?” 

  
Her niece’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. “How can I forget?” she pouted. 

  
“Today is the day I will treat you as an adult,” Polly promised, “I need you to do something for me.” 

  
Her revelation caught Ada’s attention and excitement flickered in her eyes. “Really? What do you need me to do?” 

  
“Shake hands with the devil.” 

 

.-.-.

 

Maria was surprised when Ada Shelby appeared at her doorstep. A pleasant surprise to say the least. The tension between Maria and her mother could easily be cut with a knife. Her sisters were caught in the middle of it and both were already troubled. The twins had trouble adjusting to their new home and their traumatic event at the Uncle’s house was still fresh in their memory. 

 

Both had growing tantrums and at times outbursts of wailing. Their short lives had been deprived from everything happy and safe. The lack of a prominent father figure and safety marked them. The death of their brother and father, the burning of their former home, left deep wounds. At all times everything they valued could be lost. So every time their mum left to buy groceries, April, the oldest by fifteen minutes, would have a fit. To occupy herself and block her upcoming stress she’d plague and bully her younger sibling relentlessly. 

  
May, the shyest of the two would in return try to hide from her sister. The result was one of the girls hiding in their bedroom or bathroom and the other one kicking and screaming to get access. 

  
Before lunch, Maria had dragged April by her ear out of the hallway and gave her a smack on the back of her head when she wouldn’t stop crying. Her other sister was wailing inside the bathroom, crying that she’d drenched her socks - her only socks- and had nothing to wear on her feet. 

  
Ada’s scrunched up noise spoke volumes when she entered the two bedroom apartment, but she didn’t say a word about the poverty surrounding her. 

  
Seeing a new face gave the twins a moment to bury their hatchet and present themselves as two well-mannered girls. 

  
Maria used the temporary truce to make tea, hang May’s wet socks on the clothing line that zigzagged through their living room and gave herself a moment to brush her unkempt hair. 

  
Soon after their unannounced guest sipped from her tea their mum came back from the market. And since her mother had marked every Shelby as a bad omen, her appearance towards Ada was rather hostile. She did not greet the girl, nor did she introduce herself. 

  
While her mother franticly signed what  _ that Shelby girl _ was doing on their sofa, Maria clenched her jaw and signed back that it was  _ none of her business.  _

_   
_ The twins heads zigzagged from their mother’s furious motions back to their sister’s agitated gestures and even Ada, who couldn’t read sign language that fast, was well aware the bickering between mother and daughter was about her. 

  
Maria flared her nostrils when her mother dared to sign that she wanted  _ that Shelby girl  _ out of her house. With a quick motion she firmly reminded her mother that for the record their house belonged to the Shelby’s, as probably the entire street belonged to the Shelby’s. And that it wasn’t in their best interest to get cross with the family, who kept them safe and sound  _ with a roof over their head _ . 

 

Tight-lipped she smiled at Ada and took her practically full cup of tea from her hands to dump it in the kitchen sink. 

  
Ignoring her mother she motioned Ada to come outside and slammed their front door shut so loud her mum was able to feel the walls shake. 

  
“I’m sorry, for all of that,” Maria excused herself dejected and sunk her hands into the pockets of her overcoat. 

  
“Oh no worries, you’ve met my family. It’s rather relaxing to be in the middle of a fight without the sound of death threats, curses and cutlery being thrown,” Ada told jokingly and patted her on the back. “Let’s go do something fun, ay? Have you ever been to the cinema?”   
  
  


.-.-.

 

A whole new, two dimensional, black and white world opened up for Maria. She’d been hesitant at first to spend her day with Ada. Not because she was a Shelby, but because money was tight and she didn’t have a penny in her pocket. But Ada had firmly told her not to worry about that. She’d had never paid for a film ticket in her entire life and assured Maria she’d be granted free entrance as well. 

  
As the red curtains railed open Maria allowed herself to sit back in the velvety cinema seat. Breathless, she watched how Charlie Chaplin solved the mysteries of a collapsible deck chair and giggled unflattering of the silliness. The music was cheery and carried the story. 

  
After the movie ended she was still in awe how it was possible for all those images to appear on a white screen. 

  
Ada emptied her popcorn basket above her wide opened mouth and ruffled through her hair to lose all the crumbs. 

  
“You’re easily amazed, aren’t ya?” Ada teased, cheeks puffed with popcorn. 

  
Maria nodded sheepish gaze still glued on the empty screen. 

  
After the staff kindly asked them to leave the theater, Ada took it upon herself to indulge Maria into the perks of being a woman. 

 

Ada batted her eyelids and pouted when asking for a cigarette while they settled at a local restaurant. The waiter did not hesitate to place a cigarette between her yearning lips and lit it for her. 

  
Ada’s eyes hinted with sass and motioned to Maria, mentioning that it wasn’t polite to leave a woman waiting. 

  
Maria tried to tell Ada and the waiter that she didn’t smoke, but Ada wouldn’t hear any of it and asked for one more cigarette and the waiter’s box of matches. 

  
“All posh girls smoke Holy Mary, don’t be such a goody-two-shoes.” Ada patted her cigarette on the rim of the ashtray. “Look, it’s not hard.” With elegance she brought her cigarette back between her lips, turned them into a little ‘o’ and sucked on the edge of her cigarette. “See, very lady-like. Try it.” 

  
Receiving Ada’s half smoked cigarette Maria held it awkwardly between her fingers and crunched up her nose. 

  
Ada snorted and took the liberty to light the other cigarette. 

  
Maria pressed the end of her cigarette between her lips and inhaled. Her mouth filled up with smoke and her eyes watered. Determined to show Ada she was not a sweet summer child, she took another drag. Trying to swallow the revolting taste of nicotine she started coughing loudly. 

 

Ada clapped her hands and threw her head back while laughing. Entertained, she patted her tablemate on her back until Maria had her breath back under control. 

  
“It’s disgusting!” Maria stated nauseated. 

  
“Nonsense, it’s like wine, it’ll grow on you,” Ada informed her bossily and shoved the ashtray in her direction. 

  
“I don’t drink either,” Maria informed sourly glancing cautiously at her cigarette. 

  
“Oh sweet Jesus,” Ada snorred and snapped her fingers to get the waiter's attention, “honestly you are the last person on earth qualified to working for my brother.” 

  
The waiter came to their table and Ada ordered two chocolate egg creams.

 

To please her dictatorial acquaintance, Maria took another drag of her cigarette. The taste remained revolting but this time she didn’t cough up her lungs. Well aware of her victory she caught Ada’s pleased eyes and for a while the two girls smoked as graceful as they could be. 

  
“So have you been sleeping with my brother then?” Ada said out of the blue at the exact moment the waiter placed two large jugs of egg cream. 

  
A flush crept upon Maria’s face and she dodged Ada’s eager gaze. “No, I haven’t.” 

  
“So you don’t fancy a cock then?” Ada asked amused, wiggling with her eyebrows. 

  
Maria honestly did not know what to say to that and occupied herself by fiddling her straw through her drink. 

  
“Are you a virgin?” Ada questioned on, “seeing your ears turn red, my bets are on yes. A good thing I guess, for a girl like you.” 

  
Somehow it struck her how Ada put her on her place, as the gullible Catholic town girl. It stung although she took great pride in her abstinence. 

  
“I’ve slept with four men, not all at the same time of course,” Ada continued, “they are all different yet all the same. Promising posh girls heaven and eternal love, up until they shoot their goods. Doesn’t matter though, as long as they are good in the sack.” Very suggestively she sucked on her straw. “Three bets that you haven’t sucked any cock.” She scoffed registering Maria’s awkwardness on the subject. 

  
“Why is talking about sex such a taboo for you?” 

  
“Because,” Maria stated, tugging on the short ends of her hair. “It’s not something you talk about,” she added when she realised Ada wouldn’t take that as an answer. “It’s something you do behind closed doors with your husband and don’t mention to anyone else.” 

  
“Husband,” Ada giggled and tsked. “We are from two completely different words,” Ada stated the obvious, “I can’t remember one night that I didn’t overhear my folks shagging. Aunt Pol never was a prude and told me all there is to know about men when I started having my period. My brother’s… well I don’t think I have to get into details, they where a bunch of horny dogs. Still are by the way.” 

  
Maria started to wonder why on earth they were having this conversation and felt very out of her elements. 

  
“Ever kissed a boy?” Ada’s questionnaire continued. 

  
“Yes, twice.” Maria admitted, remembering the fury that unleashed inside her father when he found out she’d been making out with one of the choir boys at the back of their chapel during Easter mass. It was probably the most deviant thing she’d done and had earned her a flogging from her usually calm father. 

  
“We’re getting somewhere!” Ada coached enthusiastic. “So how was that?” 

  
“Wet,” Maria stated recalling how inexperience both of them had been. 

  
“You sure know how to kill the thrill don’t you?” Ada snorted, eyes darting back on their waiter. “Did it feel good?” 

  
Maria shrugged. “I guess. But I got punished for it. I’ve never seen my father so furious.” 

  
“Curse of being a woman,” Ada stated. “For the record, if my brothers ask, I’m a little angel. They will personally hunt the poor sod down and cut off his manhood if they find out I’ve been sleeping around.” 

  
Maria nodded sheepish and finished her drink, thinking Ada’s questions had been answered. 

  
“Aunt Pol asked me in secret to find out what you are to Tommy,” Ada suddenly blurted out. “I was supposed to keep that all a secret and fish the information out of you. But honestly, I don’t think you are a threat or capable to endanger my family's business and consider you a friend.”

 

Maria's heart fluttered when she heard Ada addressing their friendship. Since she moved to Small Heath this was the first time she'd spent time with anyone her peers. To hear someone call her a friend mattered more to her then all money she'd earned. 

 

“So, please answer aunt Pol's question, so I can get back to her and we can continue our Saturday well spent.” Ada pushed her jug out of the way and leaned on her elbow. “What is my brother to you?”

 

“He's my employer,” Maria spoke honest, “he saved me and my family out of a horrible situation and provided a roof over our head. I am very grateful for his actions, but I'm aware he did it because I am of value to him.” 

 

“In all honesty, the old Tommy hadn't glanced at you twice.” Ada told her matter-of-factly, studying her fingernails. “If he'd been alright in the head he wouldn't be offering a house to a random working class girl, saving you as a knight in shining armour. Consider yourself lucky I guess.”

 

Maria figured she'd be the last one to be considered lucky seeing her record of previous misfortune, but let it pass. Today was a good day, she'd been out of the house. She saw a film for the first time and considered someone as a friend. That was more than she'd expected from a free saturday afternoon.

 

.-.-.

 

The boys were out and good riddance. Arthur's ego had grown the size of a zeppelin since he'd became the official owner of the place ‘with the most tits in town’. John was partly in awe and partly annoyed that they hadn't taken him to their meeting with Russo. Tommy had been in a sour-mood since their kitchen encounter in the morning and stubbornly refuse to look at her or acknowledge her presence. 

 

Finn was off to bed so that left the two Shelby woman to their brooding and plotting. 

 

“She bought the whole friend thing,” Ada informed her, “like you predicted.”

 

“Good, that'll allow her to keep her guard down around you. I'm certain she's loyal to Tommy and therefore very reluctant to speak with me. But a girl like her needs a listening ear. Someone-”

 

“-Like me,” Ada piped in, “you're repeating yourself Pol.” Thoughtfully she hummed, “I honestly don't think you should feel threatened of her. I swear her ears turned red when I slipped the word ‘cock’. She barely kissed a boy.” 

 

“She's not the one I worry about,” Polly muttered tight-lipped. 

 

Ada rolled her eyes and threw her hands at the ceiling. “And what if Tommy tries to shag her? So what?”

 

“Remember what happened last time that girl disappeared?” Polly reminded her niece to Tommy immediate withdraw from their house and business. “What do you think happens if Tommy does what Tommy used to do best? That little Catholic sweetheart won't be a match for Tommy and sooner than later she'll flee. And guess who's picking up the pieces?” 

 

Ada hummed, considering her aunt's horrible prediction. 

 

“But she is not his type. Honestly he wouldn't even glance at her twice when he was-”

 

“- _ Was _ , that's the thing Ada.  _ When he was _ , but he isn't anymore. And he's able to speak with this girl, spends an awful amount of time with her. He's having the complete upperhand in the situation.” Polly cursed herself. “When I picked her out of the crowd at the market-”

 

“-God, you and your plotting and planning.” Ada groaned and rubbed her temples. “Honestly, what did you think was going to happen if you toss someone of the opposite sex into Tommy's lap. Them picking daisies, drinking tea, having a fucking picnic?” 

 

“I hoped to bring him out of his shell,” Polly answered, but keeping Tommy tremendous amount of self destruction to herself. His sister didn't need to know how close her brother had been to killing himself. 

 

“Well, you bloody well did.” Ada grinned. 

 

“I bloody well did,” Polly repeated and wondered what kind of turmoil would appear from Pandora's box. 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: I think it's hilarious that the entire population of Small Heath thinks Maria and Tommy are sleeping with each other while, yet I'm at chapter 23 and they haven't even kissed. It's a very very very slow burn, but fear not I've written the first and second kiss. It just takes more time than usual. Because I’m a little corney and it all has to ‘matter’ and ‘make sense’...So bare with me, for them to get to the first kiss...well let's say some gruesome things need to happen first.**

 

**That said I also like to applause Polly for being a total backstabber. But I guess that's what I like about her. Everything for the family!**

 

**Also I’m trying my best to keep true to the time. The movie they saw was one of Charlie Chaplin’s and was shown in 1919. If I happen to make a mistake feel free to point it out.** ****  
**  
** **Eggcream, is a real thing, I couldn’t find a specific type of soda so I used this, if the drink doesn’t make sense, feel free to point out.**

 

**Yes, Arthur’s ego can be the size of a zeppelin, they were invented long before.**

 

**Thank you again for reading, I promise next chapter won't involve so much gossip and rubbernecking.**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

 


	24. Damanged goods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You honestly believe there's a cure for this?

 

 

.-.-.   
  


Maria overheard the frustrated shouts from Polly when she took halt at the doorstep of Watery Lane. A nasty lump inside her stomach grew in size, today was going to be a very long day by the sounds of it. The urge to spin around and spend her time elsewhere seemed almost too tempting. But since the lives and the wellbeing of her family rested on her shoulders as an anvil, there was no escaping Watery Lane’s fury. 

 

At times factory work from sunrise until sundown seemed like a vacation.

Still unaware of the root of the problem she softly knocked on the door. 

  
Immediately the door shot open, nearly torn from its hinges. Polly’s overall appearance wasn’t as impeccable as the usual unattainable bearing she carried herself with. Her curly hair made a great resemblance with a birds nest and she was still in her bathrobe and slippers. Her stern and most calculated gaze, which seemed to run in the family as a blessing and a curse, flickered with what her uncle would identify as devilment.  

  
“Get in!” The older woman spat at her yanking her over the doorstep by her elbow. 

  
Inside stood Tommy playing marble, eyes as an furies deer caught in headlights. By the looks of shards of broken porcelain he hadn’t been able to keep his temper down. 

  
When he took sight of her, the deer morphed into a wild cat trapped in a corner. Without even acknowledging her, Tommy marched up the stairs. Two seconds later the loud bang of his bedroom door shook the entire house.  

  
Rage seemed to sinder off Polly who abruptly let go of Maria’s elbow and started sweeping the cluttered shards of a teacup together. 

  
Maria stood there watching and suppressing the enormous urge to quietly sneak off and away now that she was no-ones centre of attention. 

  
“He has an appointment at the hospital,” Polly informed her matter-of-factly, picking up the pieces. Maria thought of it as a bitter metaphor, somehow Polly always seemed to picking up someone else’s pieces.  

  
“But of course he refuses to go, the bloody idiot,” Polly hissed through gritted teeth and cursed something in Romani. 

  
“There is a doctor, who’s specialised in war trauma. He travels through the country to study ex soldiers. Tommy is a subject of interest and volunteered when he was recovering in the hospital.”

  
Polly carefully took all shards of porcelain and placed them on their kitchen table. Rummaging through drawers she retreated back to the table with a tube of glue. 

  
“Maybe there is a cure, there must be more cases like Tommy’s. He can’t be the first soldier to lose his speech. There must be others. Maybe with the right treatment…” her voice drifted off as she occupied herself ordering the shards.

  
Maria hadn’t been aware that she’d been holding her breath ever since the moment she was dragged into the kitchen of Watery lane and dared to let her guard down now that she knew she wasn’t the source of Polly’s dread. 

  
It was painful to see how the woman yearned for the old Tommy to return. Maria did not have the heart nor the guts to tell her that she highly doubted such miracle would happen. And along the line of her sympathy for the older woman there was a shard of anger. Tommy’s disability came close to home. Her mum suffered from the same handicap. For some utter fools, an even severer one. Deaf, disabled therefore cut from society. 

  
It hurt, because during her carefree childhood and adolescent she’d never seen her mother as one with a disability. Her mum was just as strong, kind hearted and loving as every other mother and would fight with her bare hands to keep her children safe. 

  
Maria never understood where Tommy’s utter hatred for his muteness came from. In her eyes there was nothing wrong with him. To her, he did not  _ lack _ anything. On the contrary, he’d faced the war, looked it in it’s eyes and came back. He was able to continue as an asset in his wicked family business.

  
As his speaker she started to notice how his relatives depended on him. How he wasn’t able to fulfil his old role because every single one of them wished for the Tommy ‘before the war’ to return.   

  
It wasn’t fair for them to wish his muteness away, it was as if they expected him to cut his right arm off. His muteness was a part of him. In order for him to accept that, they all needed to accept that. 

 

But Maria didn’t think it was her place or a  _ wise thing _ to be the one to tell Polly that. So she remained quiet, biting her lower lip.  

  
“He has an appointment this morning at ten o’clock at the Birmingham State Hospital with Dr. Rivers. Since he’s gotten so particularly found of you, maybe you can talk some sense into his thick skull,” Polly spat with a clear hint of envy, connecting two pieces of porcelain. 

  
Maria took that as a cue to dispose herself from the kitchen and gladly retreated into the hallway. The first dragon did not bite her head off, she wondered what the next one would do. 

 

The walk up the stairs seemed to take an eternity in which she collected all her courage to knock on his door. 

  
Without expecting an answer she cautiously peeked around the corner, aware she could earn something heavy being thrown at her head, for being there. 

  
Tommy sat on his bed, hunched forward with his hands in his hair. To her surprise, he didn’t appear angry at her presence, he seemed too occupied with his thoughts to tell her off. 

  
Without his three piece suit, trademark flat cap, the grandeur of a cut throat gangster, he almost seemed fragile. Disheveled from his pride, and worn by the everyday challenges his muteness brought along. In front of her sat a damaged man doing his absolute best to keep his head up in a world that didn’t acknowledge him for who he was.  

  
_ Don’t _ , he mouthed at her when she opened her mouth. Angered he ruffled through his hair, fingers freezing on the thick lines of scar tissue. Filled up with self-loathing that he yanked his hat from his nightstand and pulled it firmly over the root of his misery.    
  


_ You honestly believe there's a cure for this? _ He signed unable to keep his face clear from frustration. The prominent lines between his eyebrows sat deep and for a moment Maria honestly believed he wanted her to say  _ yes _ . That  _ yes _ there was a magic pill, a special treatment or one of God’s wonders. That praying helped, that a thousand  _ hail mary’s _ would do the trick. That one day, he would be  _ good enough _ . 

  
“No,” She answered honestly. 

  
Anguish swept over him like a curtain of black and he dropped his gaze. His jaw clenched and he grunted through his teeth. 

  
“I don’t think there is a cure,” Maria whispered and slowly stepped into his room and closed the door behind her. She still remained awfully intimidated by Polly and would rather have this conversation in private. 

 

Tommy succeeded to wrap all his darkness and pain away and she met his icy cold stare as he signed to her.  _ Then why go to a hospital? Do a few tricks like a fucking guinea pig, for what? Nothing! _

_   
_ Becoming the centre of his attention made her awfully aware that in fact, he was opening up to her. Maybe not in a healthy way, but a layer of his usual indifference peeled off. 

  
She threw her gaze down and was afraid for his reaction but felt the need to say it out loud. “I don’t think you will ever get your voice back.” Peeking through her lashes she noticed the change in his bearing. Swallowing thickly he scrunched his nose and desperately tried to keep his trademark stoic face up. 

 

_ That makes two of us _ , he signed with twitching fingers and he stared at her, almost daring her to say something that would cut him even deeper. Showing her that whatever the world would throw at his feet, he’d bare it. Take the pain and bite through it all. 

  
“But maybe, in the long run, the doctor can help others. Then maybe what happened to you, won’t be for nothing,” Maria whispered, aware she was testing his temper.  

  
Tommy grunted low and gave her a vacant stare before looking at his pocket watch. 

  
Resolutely he shot up, grabbed her by the shoulder and forcefully pushed her out of his room. The door slammed shut in her face as she shifted on her feet to maintain balance. 

  
Clearly she pushed a wrong button and got out of line. 

  
“Tommy, I’m sorry!” She apologized baffled by his sudden action. Highly doubting that knocking on his door would be a good idea, she dug her fingernails into the soft skin of her palm, questioning what to do next. 

  
The choice was made for her. 

 

Tommy reopened the door, wearing his coat and fumbling his notebook into one of his pockets. With a lit cigarette pressed between his lips he cocked his head into the direction of the stairs and pushed her forward when she lacked his demand.

  
Being pushed through the living room, she met Polly’s worried frown but wasn’t granted a moment to speak with the older lady. Tommy didn’t give Polly anything more then a glare, huffed from his cigarette while he opened the front door and shoved Maria back into the streets.

  
“I’m sorry!” Maria repeated most apologetic, expecting him to slam another door into her face. But he followed her outside before slamming the door as hard as he could muster and cocked his head into the directions of his car, indicating her to keep walking. 

  
For a moment Maria wondered if Tommy had been drinking and if so  _ how much  _ he’d been drinking. Apprehensive she waited aside the car as he fiddled in his pockets for keys. 

 

She pursed her lips, the questions about his alcohol consumptions burning on her tongue, as he opened the passengers door for her and nudged his head into the direction of the seat. His eyes widened, indicating she had to hurry up when she didn’t jump into immediate action. 

  
“Are we going to the hospital?” she asked when he drove quickly over the bumpy road of Watery Lane. 

 

Tommy gave her a long sideway look and scoffed, tapping on the steering wheel stating the obvious; his incapability to communicated with her. 

 

Why was he always so awfully good at giving her the feeling that she was a stupid little git? Crossing her arms she decided that if he did not have the decency to share their destination with her she wouldn’t try to have a conversation. 

  
When they drove through the city centre of Birmingham, Maria realised that their quiet ride was probably what Tommy wanted. 

  
If he wasn’t puffing from his cigarette he’d be grinding his teeth and his eyes scanned nervously through traffic. 

  
She studied him carefully through her lashes. He was more than nervous, the car slowed down as he took a turn and he didn’t accelerate when he had the chance. He was delaying the inevitable without making it too obvious. 

  
They both spotted the first hospital sign and Tommy’s fingers clutched around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Maria shared Tommy’s lack of enthusiasm. She’d never been to a hospital before, their small town only had one doctor who’d been present during her and her siblings birth. Besides a bad case of pneumonia, she’d hardly seen a doctor and the hulking majestic building made out of red brigs embedded a strange kind of fear. 

  
Tommy parked the car and sighed deeply. Without being bothered by her concerned stare, he took a silver flask from his pocket and by the looks of it, drained the contents.    
  
The hall of the main building was overcrowded with people, more then usual it seemed. At the reception was a long line of men, varied by age but all had one shared hell, the war. 

  
A nurse was helping the receptionist, questioning the ex soldiers and scribbling down notes. The overall atmosphere was grim and although the buzz from voices echoed through the tiled halls their shared states of decay was deafening. 

  
Tommy’s utter resentment towards his appointment made complete sense to Maria. All these men were part of the same misery. Frozen to the floor Maria became aware she was staring in anguish at a soldier. His face must have been blown off by a heavy fire weapon. Medics had been able to sew it back on, but the damage was done. He was missing an eye, his nose seemed to be smeared on his face and saliva dripped down the corner of his bulky mouth. 

  
Tommy agitatedly nudges her shoulder and gave the ex solder a compassionate salute. 

  
Gulping Maria lowered her head in shame, that poor man had fought for their country and king. Had been through more sorts of pain then she wished never to endure. And all she did was stare at his disfigurements as if she was watching monkeys in a zoo. She wished to apologize, but feared her actions would make the matter worse. 

  
Keeping her eyes glued to the tips of her toes she waited in line beside Tommy until a friendly nurse asked them to take a seat in waiting room three and fill in some forms. 

  
Tommy kept the paperwork to himself after they took a seat. Maria occupied herself by counting the tiles on the floor, determined not to re-enact her regrettable acting in the hallway. 

  
To her dread, the disfigured soldier was placed in the same waiting area. Limping inside he took a seat next to Tommy. Wheezing through his nostrils the soldier rubbed the sweat off his forehead, the stroll had taken its toll on him. 

  
“Twisted thing ain’t it,” the soldier lisped towards Tommy, “us fight’n for honor and country. But givin’ us social benefits is too much to ask.” Saliva started to run down the corner of his lip and he quickly rubbed his wrist over his chin. “Was a gunner in Verdun, bastards shot me bloody head off.” 

  
Tommy observed the man with admiration and offered him a cigarette. The soldier took it eagerly and watched how Tommy brought his flatcap down to his lap. He scribbled down some notes in his book and showed it to the soldier and tapped to the damaged side of his head. 

  
The soldier read his notes and sniggered cynical. “Well at least you still have your pretty face.” 

  
Intrigued Maria tried to keep up with the conversation without obviously rubbernecking. 

  
_ I bet you still have a lovely singing voice _ , Tommy wrote down in his notebook as she glanced sideways over his shoulder. 

  
The soldier started laughing, until coughs and wheezes took his breath away. “Fucking gas,” the man panted, stomping on his chest. “We’re damned brother, ‘tell you that.” 

  
“Mister Paxton? Gerard Paxton?” A nurse read up from her forms and tentatively scanned the area. 

  
“That’ll be me,” the disfigured soldier wheezed, cigarette dangling from his misshapen lips. He gave Tommy a meaningful lopsided smile and raised himself up from his seat. The soldier staggered off, taking the help from the nurse. His wheezing slowly echoed away through the long tiled hall. 

  
Maria felt sick to her stomach. Not by the man’s disfigurement, but by the injustice on his behalf. That poor man nearly gave his life for his country and didn’t receive a penny. It was hard to guess his age, but he couldn’t be far over his twenties. A bright and healthy future with a wife and children were literally blown to shreds. No women would look at him the way a man wanted to be looked at by the opposite sex. Besides disgust and pity there was nothing to gain. His body was failing him, making him limp and breath as a croaked eighty year old. Robbed from basic human rights he’d be forced to rely on relatives and charity. 

  
Tommy seemed to be lost in his thoughts, his eyes vacant and probably reliving some things he’d rather forget. With an empty stare he sucked on his cigarette, jaw tightened and swallowing hard. 

  
Since the moment Charlie had informed her not to  _ ever _ mention France, Maria was intrigued to find out more about Tommy’s ordeal in the country. Beside from what she’d picked up from others he’d never directly spilled a word over what had happened to him. She’d been bright enough to never raise a question, but that didn’t mean it never kept her up at night. He’d been through something her brother and father hadn't been able to overcome. And therefore she felt the need to know more about his horrors in France. It would never bring her peace to find out what kind of unspeakable deeds of violence that had been brought from men upon men. But it would somehow make her feel closer to her father and brother. And maybe to Tommy. 

  
She didn’t know why she said it, but she felt obligated to say it.

  
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and squeezed his wrist lightly through the fabric of his thick jacket, “I’m sorry you have to be here.” She clarified herself when he flinched from her touch and jerked his head to her direction. 

  
His eyes narrow, he could not read her face nor her intentions behind her apology. That plagued him, the thought of being pitied by her made him grow cold and distant. He yanked his arm back and retreated back to reading over his forms. 

  
Her words had the opposite effect and it struck her heart. Coming here had been a horrible idea, honestly what good could come out of it? Facing a hundred different states of what could have been his? Comparing others misfortune and trauma with his own, what good could out of it? Reminiscing what could have been, what was the use of it? 

  
“Mister Shelby? Thomas Shelby?” A nurse questioned and directed herself to Tommy as he stood up. The nurse asked the two of them to follow her and took Tommy’s forms. 

  
They were guided inside a cramped office and took place near a desk. The walls where cramped up with bookshelves, filled with medical studies and encyclopedias. It appeared more like a storage room then an actual office. 

  
“Doctor Rivers will soon be with you,” the nurse informed them and left. 

  
_ Soon _ was a broad concept. Maria didn’t dare to ask for the time, but it took Tommy three agitated glares at his pocket watch before a doctor came in. Politely she took off her bucket hat but did not receive a moment of the doctor’s attention. 

  
“Sorry for the delay,” the doctor muttered apologetic, “we are highly understaffed and-” he cut himself off and took a handkerchief from his pocket. Taking his seat behind a desk he started to rub his small round glasses and pinched it back on his nose. Doctor Rivers must be near his fifties and gave a hurried impression. His eyes rushed over Tommy’s notes and peeked over the forms to his patient. 

  
“Mister and misses Shelby-,” he started, staking the papers into a file. 

  
“-I’m not-” Maria piped in. “-We’re not married. I’m his speaker.” 

  
“Oh,” the doctor seemed a bit dazzled and realised he’d skipped the introduction, “my apologize, it’s been an awfully eventful day.” Without addressing himself he continued. 

  
“Mister Shelby, according to your files I’ve seen you just about five months ago. You’ve been dismissed from the hospital shortly after.” His eyes fluttered back through the notes. “Since then, have you suffered from any more seizures?” 

  
Tommy did his best at ignoring Maria’s shocked expression and shook his head. Clearly the question rubbed a sore spot. 

  
“No? No seizures at all since the major one you had after your surgery?” Doctor Rivers pressed firmly. Tommy shook his head steady.

  
“Good, excellent. That means your brain damage isn’t as severe as we thought at first.” The doctor skipped a few pages and started a cross exame. 

  
“Has your speech returned in any form? Sentences, words? Anything?” 

  
Tommy glared at him and pointed at Maria then signed.  _ Do you think I’d be here with a fucking speaker if I’d be able to talk myself? _

_   
_ “No, else he would be here without a speaker,” Maria neatly formulated. 

  
The doctor nodded slow and scribbled down some notes. “Aphasia still fully present.” 

  
“What does aphasia mean?” Maria’s question annoyed Tommy.

  
_ You’re here to translate, not ask questions,  _ he lectured her. She nodded quietly but peeked back up at the doctor for an answer. 

  
“Aphasia is the inability to comprehend or formulate language because of damage to specific brain regions.This damage is typically caused by a cerebral vascular accident, also know as a stroke. Or in Mister Shelby’s case, trauma of the head.” Doctor River filled in matter-of-factly. 

  
Directing himself back to his patient he clasped his hands together and looked over the rim of his glasses. 

 

“Mister Shelby, it has been five months in which you’ve succeeded above all our expectations. I can honestly say I did not think you’d recover from your coma and would therefore remain in a catatonic state.” 

  
Maria’s ears were ringing and she highly doubted that Tommy would have brought her along if he’d knew beforehand how to the point the doctor would be. 

  
“But, it has been five months, Mister Shelby, and your speech hasn’t returned. We’ve established early on that there is no damage on your vocal cords. ” Doctor Rivers turned around and took a heavy medical book from the shelve. After flipping through some pages the doctor showed his patient a picture of cross section of the brain. A small part was marked with a red color, just above the temple. 

  
“This is the Broca area,” Doctor Rivers explained tapping his pen down on the marked area, “it’s a region in the frontal lobe of the dominant hemisphere of the brain with functions linked to speech production. I fear that the trepanation, that saved your life, damaged that area of your brain. For good.” The doctor cleared his throat. 

  
“It has been five months, you haven’t recovered any form of speech. I therefore think it’s safe for me to say that you will never be able to speak again.” 

  
Tommy let out an inarticulate sound from the back of his throat and fisted his hands together on his lap. Other then that, no emotion crossed his face, blank he stared at the doctor and slowly nodded his head. 

  
Maria did not dare to breath or even think of opening her mouth. 

  
What must have been a few seconds seemed like an eternity. Tommy took a few deep breaths as if the awful truth had knocked the air out of his lungs. Unclenched his fists he leaned forward and tapped down on the file in front of Doctor Rivers. 

  
“You want me to continue?” The doctor asked from clarification.

  
Tommy sank back on his chair and nodded dejected. 

  
Doctor Rivers must have read the sorrow that washed over his patient after bringing such horrible news. But it wasn’t the first and probably not the last time today the doctor had to shatter someone’s dreams and hopes for the future. Pragmatic the man continued his list of possible physical symptoms. 

  
“Do you often suffer from headaches? Fatigue or drowsiness? Do you sleep more than usual?”

  
Tommy shook his head and cracked his knuckles, although he was the centre of everyone’s attention, his mind was clearly elsewhere. 

  
“At times do you feel disoriented, confused of your whereabouts?” 

  
Tommy nodded timid, craning his head to meet Maria’s gaze and started to sign.  _ When I can’t sleep, at night. Sometimes I don’t know where I am,  _ he sighed dejected and continued,  _ it’s...not when I can’t sleep, it’s when I think I can’t wake up. I’m -there-, I know I’m not there. But I’m -there-.  _

_   
_ Maria took a moment to formulate his words. 

  
“At the darkest of the night, he thinks he’s in France. Partly he knows he’s not, yet it feels as if he’s back there.” 

  
A muscle in his jaw twitched and his nostrils suck in a large amount of air, yet he blinked his eyes and nodded.  _ I hardly sleep, I drink until I pass out, that’s when I sleep.  _ It was like he used his confessions as a challenge, to see how much he could share before he’d make her flinch. 

_   
_ “He has difficulty sleeping,” Maria stated aware that she kept his alcohol consumptions out of the translation, “he drinks. That helps him to sleep.” she added with a small voice. 

  
“-Insomnia, tendency to use alcohol as a coping mechanism…” the Doctor added to his notes. 

  
“How much do you drink, Mister Shelby?”

  
_ Too much _ , Tommy answered honestly and rubbed the back of his scalp,  _ too fucking much _ .

  
“A lot,” Maria translated.

  
“How much? How frequent?” The doctor asked.

  
Tommy shrugged his shoulders and clearly wanted to skip to the next question. 

  
“Whiskey, of and about every day,” Maria gave away, souring Tommy’s already tainted mood. 

  
The doctor scribbled everything down and continued, “weakness or numbness in fingers or toes?” 

  
Tommy nodded and signed to Maria.

  
“Sometimes his hands shake,” She translated. 

  
“Do you have difficulty paying attention?”

  
Tommy shook his head. 

  
“Sudden dizziness, ringing in the ear, hearing loss, loss of vision or double vision?” 

  
Again, Tommy shook his head. 

  
“Suffer from depression?” The doctor asked next. 

  
That was a subtle change in Tommy’s bearing, Maria marked it as his way to raise his walls up high. Stoic he took out his notebook and started to write. His hurried handwriting filled up one and a half pages before he slammed the book on top of River’s notes. 

  
The doctor took the notebook, eyes running over the content and his right hand copying notes. Then River’s closed the book and gave it back to its owner. 

  
“Mind if I run one reflex test?” Rivers asked. 

  
Tommy nodded, appearing bored but he was on edge, Maria noticed how hastily he stacked his notebook away in his pocket.  

  
The doctor used the pupillary light reflex test and shone a light in his patient’s eye.

  
“Excellent, I’d like to see you in five months. Try to keep your alcohol consumptions to a minimal and I’ll give you a description for sleeping pills, they work miracles.”  

  
Doctor Rivers held out his hand and the description of the pills but Tommy didn’t take neither one. Resolute he stood up and marched out of the office. 

  
Maria’s cheeks flushed and she awkwardly shook hands with the doctor and snatched the paper out of his fingers. When she reached the hallway her employer was already out of sight. Hurried she ran through the hallway, along the lines of ex-soldiers and noticed his trademark flat cap disappear through the main entrance. 

  
She hesitated, aware of his current mood. Although Tommy never showed any hope for the possibility to regain his speech, the fact that minutes ago a medical expert flat out told him he would never speak again, was a rug being pulled from underneath his feet. 

  
Maybe it was in both their best interests if she left him be for a moment. With the prescription from the doctor still in her hands she turned on her heels and walked towards the pharmacy. 

 

.-.-.

 

He didn’t feel anything. Not a thing. 

  
Until he sat down in his car. 

  
There the full blown truth hit him in the face. And the guts and the fucking balls. And he was breathless at first, then gradually unable to breath. 

  
This was it, this was fucking  _ it _ . 

  
He collided his fists into the frame of the steering wheel and he shouted. He did not care about the absolute madness coming from his mouth. He didn’t care about the bystanders speeding up their pass. He cried out on top of his lungs, for his loss. For his fucking injustice. And he let his knuckles turn blue from the repeated banging on iron. 

  
It wasn’t fair, it just fucking wasn’t  _ fair.  _ He’d done everything.  _ Everything _ they told him to do, he jumped through all their hoops, kept his temper down every time speech therapy felt like a major fail. 

  
And then some fucking ignorant physician dared to flat out tell him he’d remain speechless for the rest of his miserable life. Didn’t the man have any idea who sat at his desk this morning? Having the audacity to leave him waiting for twenty minutes? And then to sit there all smug and cocky, telling Tommy Shelby he would remain a voiceless infantile? 

  
Tommy pulled his revolver from his holster and took the safety off. He was going to blow that fucking brain all across the fucking ceiling. 

  
But that wouldn’t change anything. Plastering that smug fucker’s brain over the walls wouldn’t change the fact that he would never be able to speak. 

 

_ Fuck _ , the revolver trembled in his hand. Fuck, he was never going to speak again. That ship had sailed, curtain closed, end of the story. He was never going to summon up a word, nothing but animalistic sounds would escape his lips. 

  
And he couldn’t cope with that fact. He wouldn’t, he refused to process that. 

  
But what choice did he have?

  
Tommy stared blankly at the revolver in his hand. It could be so easy. Drawn to the cold metalic weight in his hand he brushed his fingers over the barrel. It felt strangely comforting. He made a solemn promise to himself when he witnessed horror after horror in the trenches. Desperate times needed desperate measure. And if that time presented itself to him, he’d grant himself a plan B. A loophole during the ungodly hours of the war, a safetynet. An escape.  

  
If the walls were failing, if the enemy was cornering him as a hunter playing with its prey, he’d eat a bullet. The dead can’t speak and he’d rather be useless to those fucking Huns. 

  
Whatever happened below ground, he’d always carried his revolver on his body. Just in case.    
He never would have thought that he needed that same comforting cold feeling to get through the day when he came back home. 

  
But he needed it, for some reason, he needed it.  

  
The cowards way out, it felt so tempting to just be gone.

  
Tommy’s eyes darted back up, sensing someone approaching his car. Maria hesitantly tottered along the sidewalk, screwing up a forced upon smile on her face while her eyes sized him up. 

  
Tommy reflectively shoved his revolver back in his holster and straightened his back. Fixing himself a much needed cigarette his speaker yanked on the door handle and stepped inside the automobile. 

  
“I got you those sleeping pills,” she mentioned ruffling with a small white paper bag, “just in case.” Uneasy she pulled her bucket-hat firmly back on his head and twirled curls in her short hair. 

  
He forced himself to nod, because the alternative was throwing the content of the paper bag directly out of the window. There was no way in hell that he would be using  _ anything _ that doctor recommended. In fact, the moment he dropped holy Mary off he was going for a drink. And not just  _ a drink _ , he was going to consume alcohol until every word of that doctor was washed out of his brain. It might take a while to drink himself into complete oblivion. And he needed to find a new place since Curly started working at the stables. Fuck it, maybe he would just book a room in a motel across town, lock the door and drown himself until he’d empty his guts all over the carpet. It didn’t matter, his head was damaged goods anyway. 

  
“I used to think my mum was the strongest woman of the world, you know?” Maria whispered softly, as if she was letting him in a secret no other soul could know. “I’ve always know how some of the women in my town looked down on her. Even when I was young, I could hear them speak about my mum, as if she was a simpleton. As if she did not earn her place, besides my father. I’ve been picked on by classmates, because of my mum. I’ve been called a retard, because of her disability. I’ve cried a lot about that and felt sorry for myself. But I’ve never felt sorry for my mum, because she’d always kept her chin up, shoulders back and head raised high. Because you know what, all those tittle-tattling fish-wives needed my mum’s skills. She’d sew them their daughter’s wedding dresses, Sunday’s bests and Christening gowns.” 

  
Pride beamed from her eyes and spirit. “I once asked my mum why she’d always make her best effort on their clothes, because they weren’t worth all those late night hours mum spent on them by nothing more then candlelight. She smiled and explained to me that you always have to try your hardest to succeed in life and that even though some people aren’t worth the trouble, it’s no good for the soul to deliver half work. It’s a matter of pride and self respect, because she’d never sink to their level.  _ Let them laugh at you all they want, but never let them under your skin _ , that’s what she’d always press. And she’s right, because those ignorant gits aren’t worth to spend a second of your thoughts on.” 

  
It was strange to see the working-class girl rise from her poor status. With a thrust-out chin and voice filled with adoration for her mother’s strength.     

  
“My father loved her for who she was, not for the small part she lacked. He’d joke from time to time how convenient it was to have a wife that didn’t nag about him snoring. At times my parents struggled to make ends meet, but I can’t remember a moment where my father blamed my mother for that. They had an equitable and caring relationship as husband and wife.” 

  
Tommy wished she’d stop speaking, because he did not want her words to get underneath his skin. He’d excluded the thoughts of ever having a meaningful relationship, figured such future didn’t exist for someone with a severe handicap like himself. And it was easier accepting that, then to dwell on hope. 

  
He’d closed that door and locked it, figured he’d be paying for affection for the rest of his life. But not all the whores in the world could fill up the gap inside his aching chest. 

  
Her words cut him deep, cut some old scars back open and besides distancing himself from those feelings he didn’t know how to coop with a spark of hope. 

  
“You aren’t any less then the person you where before France,” Maria told him straight from her heart, “you survived, you deserve to be here.” 

 

Intuitive his fingers found the thick lines of scar tissue, the source of all his shame and self-loathing. It was there, it was always there, out in the open, marked into his skin. The urge to hide that part and shelter himself away from his family, people in general, it was overwhelming and always there. 

  
Her fingers drifted slowly over his and connected with the damaged skin of his scalp. 

  
“You deserve to be here,” she promised him again, as her fingertips run soft over his hairline, following the trail of scar tissue. 

  
The impulse to yank his head away as if being touched by fire didn’t triumph over a stronger urge to remain perfectly still. The sweet sensation of her fingertips brushing over his shaved hair was suiting and strangely comforting. He couldn’t remember the last time that someone touched him with such care and for a moment he dared to close his eyes. 

  
Her fingertips flinched and he heard her gasp. Clarifying her sudden behavior he figured she’d panicked by his disfigurement. 

  
When he reopened his eyes he noticed how terror overtook her face, but it wasn’t his battle scars that cost her fright.  Something behind him had alerted her and before he could reach for his revolver the door handles where yanked open. Two strong arms grabbed him by the throat and without being able to spot his attacker he was pulled out of the car. Before he could recover and fight back a blunt and heavy object collided with the back of his head. Within seconds his vision blurred and he drifted into thickening darkness.

 

.-.-.   
  


**A/N: Well, this wasn’t a walk in the park to write, but I absolutely loved it. I’ve done some research about WWI soldiers who suffered from PTSD and handicaps. Doctor Rivers is an actual person, very interesting to read about. The Bronca area is a real thing too and (freak fact) was discovered before 1920, so yes it’s possible for the doctor to look it up, show it to Tommy and be able to label his muteness to his brain damage. The brain is a miraculous thing and is able to take over damaged parts. I work with people with brain damage and it’s possible to regain speech, bladder control, balance, ect after months. Speech, or muteness is a very interesting subject.** ****  
**  
** **Besides that I really loved writing the dynamic between Maria and Tommy and gosh, is it just me or did I notice a little spark?**

 

**But yeah, before this story can get any hint of romance, I’m going to torture Tommy. No, I don’t mean that in the figurative sense.**

 

**Keeping up the suspense, my work is very hectical atm, I’ve started a new education with more homework than I expected. Oh and yes I forgot I have a course in two weeks for medical training… So, next chapter might take a while.**

 

**But it’ll be worth it, because it’s going to be good. Well not good, because a lot of nasty things will happen to Tommy.**

 

**Mwhahahahah….**

 

**Xoxoxo Nukyster**


	25. Russo's grudge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You honestly thought I’d let a pikey rat run my business?”

 

**A/N For this chapter I had ‘Monster’ from Imagine Dragons, on repeat. Feel free to do the same.**

 

 

.-.-.

 

He was slipping, in and out of consciousness. As a picture frame his eyes vaguely caught flashes of events. Grey pavement, spattered with warm blood, his. The back of his head exploding from pain. A pair of expensive calf leather boots came in view and the familiar selfabsorved sniggering from Russo rang in his ears. 

  
“You honestly thought I’d let a pikey rat run my business?” The Italian asked rhetorical and he tapped the ash of his cigarette off above Tommy’s head. 

  
“You are going to pay an awfully high prize,” Russo promised him solemnly, lips turned into a devilish smile and drew his right foot back, “a very high prize.” 

 

Unable to move Tommy choked on his tongue and drew his eyes shut as the tip of the leather boot kicked the light out of him. 

 

.-.-.

 

His ears were ringing and he couldn’t see clear. His mind seemed afloat, his body a vacant, aching shell. Although his surroundings started to come back he couldn’t focus on anything aside his raging headache. The collision of the blunt object to the back of his head and the counter blow from Russo’s merciless kick, it fucked up his brain. It felt like France all over again, the burial, the swelling inside his skull. Fear struck him hard and the flashback clenched around his throat, making it impossible to breath properly. 

  
And then there was that indistinct low sound. Tommy suddenly realised it was his own hoarse moans. 

  
“Tommy, please wake up!” Maria’s pleading words cut through to his attention. The sound of her voice, even though it was afflicted with worry, took the sharpest fear away. This time he wasn’t alone. 

 

Reliving the underground moments of hell he tried to ask for help. It was irrational and embarrassing but momentarily his brains blocked out the memories of his inability to speak.

 

It took him a while to recognize the slurs and unintelligible sounds as his own. 

  
The realization of his inability to form words made him abruptly stop. 

  
She was close, she was holding him close. Ever so gentle her fingers brushed over his cheek. 

  
“Tommy, please. You have to wake up!” 

  
Reluctantly, he tried to stretch his stiffened limbs. The foul scent of vomit filled his nostrils, startling him. The burning taste of bile confirmed, he’d been throwing up. Through his lashes he tried to make anything out of his surroundings and realised his head was leaning on Maria’s knees. Towering over him she franticly rubbed tears from her eyes. The poor thing was scared out of her mind. 

  
That realisation sturred something inside of him. Alertered, his soldier side took over. First the basics, in order for him to survive Russo’s grudge he needed to know where he was. 

 

Carefully he glance up at the ceiling and gave his vision a moment to stop spinning. Drainpipes, cross beams. Where they in a basement? Hastily he let his right hand run over the foundation of the floor. Cold and damp stones. His brows furrowed up and he noticed the unmistakable scent of wet sand over the smell of vomit. 

  
Vomit, there was that again. Tilting his chin to his chest he noticed the caked up chunks of his breakfast covering his waistcoat and shirt. 

  
Brilliant, as if being at Russo’s mercy wasn’t denigrating enough. Not to mention, the fucking meatball knocked him out cold.

  
_ Knocking him cold _ . The soldier side took control again. With shaky fingers he ran his hand down his scalp. He flinched when he made contact with the bleeding lump on the back of his head. 

  
Throwing up after being used for soccer practice, nausea and the world spinning as if a good night spend in the Garrison. He most definitely had a concussion.

  
“Tommy can you hear me?” Maria asked from above, chewing madly on her busted lower lip. 

  
The sight of her infliction made rage fester in his stomach. That Russo kicked in his face was painful and inconvenient. But the thought of the sick bastard laying a hand on her was maddening. 

 

Sitting up was still out of the question, every time his eyes shot across the room his brain was convulsing inside his skull. Obligated to give her some kind of measurement of his conscious state he reached for her hand and squeezed it, hard. 

  
In return she only squeezed his harder, while her eyes glistened with tears. 

  
“He’s going to murder us, isn’t he?” Maria breathed terror-stricken. 

  
Tommy trustfully shook his head and failed to swallow the thick lead inside his throat. No, Russo wouldn’t simply kill them. What the mad Italian had in store would be worse than death. 

  
Russo was infamous for his taste of blood and twisted games. The Italian never stuck it under the  table how he’d punish his working girls. Every once in a while a dead prostitute would wash up in the cut, mangled and tortured to death. But no-one ever batted an eye, police couldn’t care less about a whore and other gangs well, honestly no-one cared about one dead whore. 

  
Tommy had seen first hand what Russo was capable of when his uncle Charlie pulled one of the Italian’s dead girls out of the water near their docks. Although the body was in a far state of decay, the forms of torture were imbedded inside her skin and muscles. Her eyes had been missing. 

  
When Charlie asked him what to do with the body he’d simply ordered his uncle to get some weight on her and throw her back where he found her. 

  
It was the first month that he’d been able to work in the stables, he hadn’t been right in the head. He’d been so far away from his emotions he didn’t feel anything when he looked into those hollow eye sockets. 

  
Staring into Maria’s tearfilled eyes, he wished he’d done more for the dead working girl drifting in between their docks. 

  
_ Sorry _ , he mouthed, trying to keep his eyes from crossing. Fuck, if only he hadn’t been so thick-headed to his aunt Pol. If only he’d told Maria to go home for the day. If only he’d gone to the hospital alone. 

  
“Don’t be,” Maria pleaded, “it’s my fault we’re here. I hustled the cards. I made him gamble away his club. I’m the one to blame.” 

  
Endeared by her guilt ridden demeanor he stared up at her. Holy Mary, taking blame for simply following his orders. For wanting to better the lives of other less fortunate young women. If he’d only possessed a fraction of her compassion, then maybe they wouldn’t be at the gates of hell.

  
Tommy Shelby couldn’t remember ever feeling this guiltridden. Maria had been a Godsend, to him. Although he highly doubted any kind of God would find him and his sins worthy enough to be saved. Honesty, if the Heavens almighty would exist and took a good look down at his slate of crimes, they’d send him a first class ticket to eternal damnation. 

  
‘Maybe this is my golden ticket,’ Tommy thought embittered, ‘but for God’s sake why drag her down with me?’ 

  
As the sound of footsteps echoed down a couple of stairs Tommy managed to rise into a sitting position. The soldier inside of him scanned the basement looking for any kind of weapon, while the human part of him whimpered in pain. There was  _ nothing _ even remotely useful to use against Russo and his men. 

  
While Maria hide behind him he yanked one of the stones out of the floor and hid it inside his balled hand. This was going to be  _ it _ , but he’d die fighting. Not for himself, but for her.    
  
Two of Russo’s minions came in first. One was a tall dark skinned man. A particularly notable feature was his white sparkly teeth. 

  
Russo slithered into the scene, practically drooling like a dog over a bone. 

  
“Smiley, get him up on his knees,” the Italian sneered to his stooge, “let’s see how good Mister Shelby is at kneeling.”

  
Tommy, in the state he was in, was no match for the 6 feet tall giant and was lifted from the ground as a ragdoll. He didn’t put up a fight, it was useless right now. If he wanted to have a shot at surviving he needed to wait for the exact right moment. 

  
Russo snapped his fingers at his other employee, a slim young Italian. By the looks of the young man’s acne ridden face he couldn’t be much over eighteen. 

  
“Lorenzo, get a chair,” Russo ordered roaming his eyes over the terrified young woman on the floor, “let’s get the bella a front row seat.” 

  
Tommy could feel his blood boiling as he was roughly pushed down on his knees. The dark skinned man yanked his arms behind his back, keeping them firmly in place. Grabbing a fist full of Tommy’s hair he jerked his head up so he was forced to face the big boss. 

  
Having his head so violently turned made him almost cry out, but the last bit of his stubbornness made him clench his jaw and keep every sound in. 

  
“What’s the matter, Mister Shelby? Cat got your tongue?” Russo joked and gracefully maneuvered a switchblade in view. “Don’t worry about that, we’ll send it back to your family.” 

  
The tip of the knife scraped his upper lip. Russo leaned forward and took hold of his jaw, brushing the blade over his Adam’s apple. 

  
Tommy restrained the immense urge to draw back, instead he tightened his grip around the stone inside his left hand. 

  
“Open your mouth.” Russo ordered. “Open your fucking mouth or I’ll stick this little fucker inside your eyeball.” 

  
“No! Please don’t hurt him!” Maria cried out from behind him. Unable to see what was happening to her was a form of torture on it’s own. He registered her whimpers of pain, the scrunching of a chair and smack of her being backhanded in the face. 

  
Russo paused and dully looked up, letting go of Tommy’s chin. 

  
“Oh, I nearly forgot about the bella. How impolite of me,” the Italian signaled his minion to move her in close. 

  
“She’s in for a good show, Mister Shelby, don’t disappoint us,” Russo continued his sick little game and ordered the man listening to the name Smiley to lay him face down on the floor. 

  
Nudging his head to keep a clear view of what was going on he looked over at his right where Maria sat faintly on a wooden chair. Her lower lip was thick, a blow to the face had reopened the cut and blood trickled down her chin. 

  
Russo’s expensive boot firmly planted itself on his temple, enforcing pressure on his head, the Italian whispered. “Bella donna, I want you to look at him, while I make him sing.” 

  
As Russo finished his sentence, Tommy solemnly promised to keep his jaws locked and bite through whatever ordeal they had in store for him. He’d keep his mouth shut even it was the last thing he’d do. 

  
The man named Smiley took hold of his right hand while he planted his boot firmly in the crease of Tommy’s back. His right arm got straightened above his back and slowly yet steadily turned clockwise. 

  
Grunting and fighting against the pair of boots holding his body down a small hiss escaped through his teeth. Unwillingly, the muscles of his right arm where stretched further and further up unto the point he could no longer keep it in. 

  
In matter of seconds he cried out like a wild animal. But the satisfaction of his humiliating sounds did not ease the torture.

  
Agonizingly slow, his arm was stretched to the absolute limit. Cringing from pain Tommy threw his solemn promise out of the window and howled like a mad dog. The twisting became unbearable, he felt something tear inside his bicep and then, a sickening pop. His eyes shot open and for a moment he couldn’t breath nor cry, the pain forced itself over him and all he could do was endure. 

  
Realising his shoulder was dislocated from its socket he felt his stomach convulce and the bitter taste of bile rose up through his throat. 

  
The grip around his right wrist eased and his arm fell next to his body like a sack of potatoes. The pain was overpowering, he didn’t even try to use his arm. All he did was suck air in and out through his teeth. 

 

“What a lovely tune, Mister Shelby.” Russo scornfully declared. His boot crushed his cheekbone and scraped his skin raw on the floor. The Italian lazely lifted his foot from his head and stepped aside his tortured opponent. 

 

“Too bad the bella didn’t bother to enjoy the show.” Russo clacked his tongue offended, direction himself to Maria. The young woman hadn’t been able to bring herself to watch the scene and hid her face underneath her bucket hat. During the process of Tommy’s torture she’d clasped her hands over her ears. 

  
“I told you to watch puttanna,” Russo snapped at her, clearly annoyed that she hadn’t been enjoying the show as a complete spectator. Roughly he pulled her off her chair and threw her down on her knees in front of Tommy. 

  
“Luckily I’m a most forgiving man,” Russo announced almost angelic. Grabbing her by the collar of her dress he shoved her head a few inches lower. 

  
“Besides, he has two arms,” The Italian added diabolical, expression filled with triumph and laughed, placing his boot back on Tommy’s temple.

  
Tommy had never been a man to plead or beg. But the thought of repeating the excruciating ordeal was enough to make him moan and whimper. Through squinted eyes he captured how tears trickled down Maria’s face. Holy Mary. The thought of her being at Russo’s mercy drove him mad enough to lightened up the last spark he had left in his beaten body. 

 

Instead of whimpering, he grunted and bolted his good shoulder up. Growling he tried to twist his head free and tried to swing his leg at his torturers. 

 

Russo sighed annoyed by his action, threw his foot up and kicked it back down on Tommy’s face. The grinding noise that followed was enough to silence the room. Russo blunt kick broke his cheekbone. 

  
Through tear shot eyes, Tommy was vaguely aware of Maria’s head being yanked up by her hair to spectate his torture. His muscles grew limp. Everything to tear himself free had been ineffective. The realisation that this was going to be the end slowly started to sink in as a trail of blood blurred his vision. 

 

He was going to be tortured to death and once they were done with him they were going to murder Maria. Probably rape her first and then beat the life out of her. And there was nothing within his power he could do about it. 

  
“Please, don’t hurt him, please!” Maria begged to Russo and Tommy felt as if his insides were being ripped to pieces. Instead of pleading on his behalf she should be more concerned for her own safety. 

  
“Please, I’ll do anything!” His loyal speaker begged. 

  
Her pleads caused a sickly amused flicker in Russo’s eyes. 

  
“ _ Anything _ , you say?”

  
The interest of the Italian mobster suddenly spiraled from Tommy to the young woman begging on her knees. 

  
Tilting her chin up she met eyes with Tommy. 

  
“Well then, let’s get that pretty mouth of hers to work. That’s been the plan the moment she stepped in my club anyways,” directing himself to Tommy he added, “I might keep her around, once I’ve disposed of  your corpse in the cut. If there’s anything left of it anyways.” 

  
The revelation of Maria’s future as Russo’s personal sex slave made the thoughts of being tortured to death seem irrelevant. 

 

Blinking to clear his vision from blood and black dots, Tommy desperately tried to bring all the attention back on himself. 

  
But his dread towards Maria sealed fate sparked up Russo’s sick pleasure. The Italian stepped off his face and his thick fingers twined through Maria’s short hair. 

  
“It’s your turn to watch the show, filthy pikey,” Russo spat at him and started to unbuckle his belt. 

 

Withering on the floor Tommy tried to break free from Smiley’s death grip, but failed and was shoved roughly down onto the chair. 

  
“First, you can enjoy the show, let your pretty little bella do what she’s good for. And then I’ll hurt you so bad you wish you could crawl back into your whore-of-a-mother’s womb.” 

 

Tipping her bucket hat to her feet, Russo unzipped his fly and towered over Maria, pushing her head up by tugging her hair back. 

  
Tommy made an egoistic choice, he wished for death. This whole scene was so utterly wrong and there was nothing he could do. The man named Smiley must have sensed his dread and chuckled amused, placing his head into a death grip, enabling him to look elsewhere. Incapable of interfering with the events forthcoming he did the only thing he could do; close his eyes.

  
Russo’s indulged sniggering abruptly stopped and an agonizing scream startled all bystanders. 

 

Tommy’s shot his eyes back open. It took him a moment to register what had happened. 

  
Maria’s right hand clenched around her bloody bucket hat and Russo had jumped back two feet, holding both hands trembling around his crotch. 

 

Astounded by the girls cleverness Tommy noticed the reflection of a sewed-in razorblade hidden in the hem of her bucket hat. 

  
Mortified, Russo peeked through his fingers to his bloody manhood and gushes of blood started to seep down the expensive material of his paints. 

  
“She cut me, that bitch cut me!” Russo roared, voice breaking as his first shock made place for fear. “Get a doctor! Get a doctor!” 

 

The tumult caused by their leader’s hoarse orders made the grip around Tommy’s neck ease. 

  
_ This was it.  _

_   
_ The short moment of startlement was his only chance and he took immediate action. Although his head was on the verge of exploding he bolted up and wrestled his good arm free. 

  
In spite of his right arm’s poor state Tommy managed to throw in a good punch with his left.

  
Withering in pain his opponent stumbled back and reached for his revolver. Tommy threw himself at the man. Colliding into his opponent with all the force he could muster they fell down on the uneven floor. The pain that shot through his dislocated shoulder was blinding, but not as blinding as the utter rage that kept his system running. Mercilessly he smashed the stone down on Smiley’s face. After a few more punches Tommy reckoned the man would need another nickname as the stone broke most of his front teeth. Yanking a revolver out of the man’s limp hand he felt insusceptible, the cold metal never felt so empowering. Bringing himself back on his knees he scanned their current situation. 

  
Tommy quickly realised Russo fled the scene, like the coward he was. The other, younger Italian had frozen on the spot and hurried to throw his hands up in the air. 

  
Today was not a day to be forgiving, but firing the revolver was a great risk, alerting Russo’s men. Without further notice Tommy collided the back of the gun against the young man’s temple, knocking him out for a while. 

  
Maria crawled up from the floor, face and chest speckled with blood. Her face was completely blank drained from emotion, only her eyes told the immense trauma she’d endured seconds ago. 

 

The sound of running feet from another floor alerted them both. Without exchanging a word Maria hooked her shoulder underneath his good arm and helped him across the basement.

  
Tommy could feel himself coming close to blacking out as they stumbled into a narrow hallway. He managed to remain soundless for most of the walk until they reached the stairs connecting the basement to the ground floor. His dislocated shoulder budged against the handrail, sending a hot jolt of pain through his aching socket. The pain left him strengthless and he sank against her. 

  
The footsteps ran faster, it was just a matter of time before Russo’s man would march around the corner and find them. 

  
Tommy felt Maria struggle to keep his weight up. Together they were weak and slow, because he was stalling her. 

  
Besides, he’d been wishing for death, so maybe that was all he deserved. 

  
For a brief moment he allowed himself to hid his face in the crook of her neck. The sent and softness of her overwhelmed him and kept him able to stay lucid. 

  
He was slowing her down, he should cut her loose. 

  
Resolute he made his decision, clung to her body and with the last bit of strength he possessed he drew back. 

  
Without any explanation he shoved the conquered revolver in her hand and with pain in his heart pointed to the stairs. 

  
The lack of her body for support made him lean heavily against the wall and he could feel the blood from his head wound seep against the cool brick wall. He was close to passing out, so close.  

  
_ Go,  _ he mouthed and gave her a light push away from him. She needed to get going, she had every right to live and see another day. He’d be able to fight Russo’s men and give her a head start. She deserved that, he owed her that. 

  
“I’m not leaving you here,” Maria whispered at him, pushing the revolver back against his hand. 

 

He gritted his teeth bitterly, his fingers trembled so hard he wasn’t even able to take it back.

 

While he could feel his knees buckle, he blinked through the blurriness and black dots and brought his trembling hand to her face. He tried to wipe away the specks of blood but only smudge it more. She needed to run, their time was running out and he could feel his eyes rolling back. He couldn’t bear the thought of her seeing him being beaten to death by a hoard of men high on bloodlust. 

 

_ Go _ , he mouthed again and drew his head back against the wall. Closing his eyes he was vaguely aware how his body started to sink down to the floor. 

  
“Tommy,” her voice sounded close and guttural. 

  
Through his lashes he noticed how the tips of their noses where touching and how her eyes posed a bewildered shimmer. Her gaze was unearthly, animalistic and a complete contrast of her petite frame. He’d seen that glance before, more times then he’d wished to count. It was the gaze of approaching death and simple  _ flight or fight _ . Humanity's last link to its feral ancestors. 

  
“Get the fuck up those stairs,” she hissed through her teeth. It wasn’t a plea, it was a direct order. Vigorously she sank her fingernails into the skin of his jaw and took hold of his chin. 

 

Forced to look her in the eyes she pushed the barrel of the revolver against her temple.

  
“Get up those stairs, or I’ll pull the trigger.”

  
It was her last straw to keep him from falling apart and she wasn’t bluffing. 

  
“I’ll do it, I swear to God Tommy, I’ll do it! Get up those stairs!” The mixture of fear and hysteria deprived her from common sense and she’d pull the fucking trigger if he didn’t comply. The barrel of the revolver dug itself deeper into the delicate skin of her temple and her fingertip trembled over the trigger. 

  
Bowing forward he pressed his forehead against hers, his good hand reaching weakly for the revolver, but she shrugged him off.

  
“Damn it, Tommy,  _ move _ !” She spat at him. He didn’t respond, couldn’t find the strength to put up a fight. He simply allowed her to clutch her arm around his back and limped forward.

  
_ Just one more step, just one more step _ , he kept telling himself as he climbed the stairs, being pushed and pulled by Maria. 

  
A bullet grazed just aside his head and dug itself into the brick wall. Russo’s men were on the far end of the basement hallway, hunting them like bloodhounds. 

  
Miraculously, they reached the ground floor, Maria froze for a moment, twirled on her feet and snapped her head from side to side. Pushing him against the wall to keep him on his feet she rammed her shoulder into a grandiose marble statue of a naked Greek Goddess. 

  
The sculpture vaulted and crashed down on the floor, the broken torso blocking the basement door. It would buy them some extra time. 

  
“The garage is that way,” she informed Tommy, nudging him in the ribs to keep his head together. 

  
The journey to the garage was a form of torture on its own. It was unearthly pain shooting up from all parts of his body. But with the image of Maria holding a gun on herself burned into his mind,he kept placing his feet in front of the other, biting through it all.

 

It was no surprise to see that Russo had a large variety of luxurious automobiles. Maria rapitly claimed the task of finding a car with the keys in the ignition while Tommy was still stuck with his current job; remaining on his feet.  

  
Drifting in and out of consciousness he got shoved into a Chrysler and wondered how Maria planned this one out. He was in no shape to drive, with only one usable arm and on the verge of collapsing. 

  
Maria swooped her legs over his. Positioning herself on his lap she trying her best not to inflict any more pain on his body as she slammed the door shut.

  
She dabbed him hurriedly in his face to snap him back to reality. 

 

“All you need to do is us the pedals, I’ll stear.” She smacked him harshly across the face when he failed to keep his eyes open. “Please, Tommy, we’ve almost made it! Stay  _ awake _ !”  

  
Her revelation instigated a small stirr through his body. 

  
Mechanically he turned the keys with his left hand and stomped the clutch pedal down. Leaning sideways he used his left hand to shift into the first gear. 

 

Maria removed the handbrake and clutched her left hand around the steering wheel.

  
Meanwhile Russo’s man had managed to burst through the door, aimed and fired at them. A rain of bullets nested itself into the Chrysler. Their side window smashed, glass shattered in the back and by the sounds of it, one bullet had managed to pierce through their right back tire. 

  
Maria screamed frantically, squirming into his lap and dugging her head down while Tommy’s body jolted up from a much needed adrenaline rush. 

  
He kicked his foot onto the accelerator pedal and the car shot forward. More bullets were fired and one smashed through the left side mirror. 

  
Speeding out of the garage, Maria did her absolute best to keep the Chrysler under control. But this being her first time as a driver and the fact that they were fleeing from a fate worse than death made her twirl the car over the cobblestones. 

  
Weren’t it for Tommy’s fast interference they’d be driving straight into the fountain. Maria’s body was tossed off his lap and slammed against the car door. 

  
Tommy shifted to his left when he got the car under control and put it in second gear. Reaching back he firmly wrapped his left hand around the steering wheel while he tried to press his wounded hand against his chest to minimise the piercing pain. 

  
Maria struggled to get back into a sitting position, swinging the revolver thoughtlessly in her hand. 

  
Tommy snatched her wrist out of the air and yanked her back into the seat aware that her startled motions could make the revolver go off and blow another hole inside his head. Now that the possibility of a successful escape came in reach his death wish was the last thing on his mind. 

  
The car accelerated as they drove into a muddy forest road. It was dark and with no lamppost to guide their way it was a matter of time for them to drive into a tree or a ditch.

  
Besides that, their car had a flat tire and swirled from side to side. Meanwhile Russo’s men had taken the liberty to chase after them with the remaining cars. 

  
They were greatly outnumbered, in men and weapons. Tommy sure as hell would lose if it came to a fist fight. The Italian’s where gaining territory and had the advantage of being familiar with the layout of the forest.  

  
If they didn’t come up with a plan they’d soon be back in Russo’s blood covered hands. 

  
Thinking fast, Tommy suddenly made a U-turn, shifted into reverse and drove back into the uneven forest ground as far as the car allowed it. Rapidly he snatched the revolver from Maria’s hand and left the girl speechless as he stepped outside the car.

  
With two blunt smacks with the back of the revolver he broke the headlights of the car. Quickly he duck down aside the Chrysler and held his breath as the other cars were coming in fast. 

  
The first car rushed by and soon the other five did as well. Tommy did not dare to breath and counted to ten before he allowed himself to fall down on his knees. 

  
Maria jumped out of the car, alerted by his downfall. Shaking with adrenaline her knees buckled and while holding herself up by the door she gagged and threw up. 

  
Breathless, they looked at each other, both too caught up in their personal trainwreck of thoughts, both deeply plagued by the ordeal Russo put them through.

  
Stunned to have made it out of Russo’s mansion alive, Tommy suddenly realised he’d still held the revolver up, directly aiming at Maria.

  
Shocked he dropped the weapon on the ground and nearly fell forward. With his good hand he was able to keep himself from a face first collision with the forest floor.

  
Now that they appeared to be safe, the adrenaline started to wear off and all the pain his body had endured seemed to strike him ten times harder. 

  
The grunt that escaped the back of his throat was soft and hoarse and sounded like a dying animal. 

  
Maria kneeled down in front of him, the animalistic glance still present but shards of compassion shimmered through. 

  
The pain, it was so excruciating and overwhelming, swallowing him whole. With the absolute last bit of resort he leaned forward and wrapped his left arm tightly around her shoulders. Carefully she twinied hers around his lower back and he allowed himself to find safety in the crook of her neck. 

  
God, the pain. He was in so much pain that even breathing felt like torture. Her frail body was the only thing that kept him from falling. Like a tower of strength her arms provided a humble bit of comfort. 

  
“We made it,” she whispered into his hair, “you’ve made it.” 

  
A whimpering sigh escaped from the back of his throat and a shudder ran through his body. His knees buckled and he clung to her gentle embrace. 

  
This was the second time in life he’d been given a second chance and he was paying a high price. But this time, instead of being dug out of the mud from France, he’d been saved by a girl. She could have left him behind but chose to risk her own life to save him from a slow, agonizing death. 

 

The blinding headache, the aching of his dislocated shoulder, the throbbing pain from his collarbone, all combined and blended in with the haunting memories of the Somme. There was just so much a body and soul could take. 

  
He choked on his own tears, unable to express himself never felt so heavy on his shoulders. The burden of forcing himself to distance his mental pain had made him so numb. But now that his body underwent the recurrence of his war trauma, his mind was unable to block all suppressed memories. 

  
Flashes of the battlefield, instinct taking over common sense, fighting with fists and teeth below grounds. The self instigated explosion, the crippling fear of slowly suffocating, waiting for death.  _ Wishing _ for death, seeing sunlight again. His blood covered hands, unable to scratch his brain out to stop the pure agony. Bright lights, the numbing sting of a syringe. Tubes down his throat and Arthur staring at him as if seeing a ghost. His head trauma. Silence, his incapability to form words and the scar tissue, an eternal reminder of the root of his handicap. The grief and self-hatred that came with it every time he looked into the mirror. The loneliness he forced upon himself. The blocked memories combined with the fresh ones, it was too much, simply too much to take. 

  
With no words to express himself  he broke down, unable to keep it in any longer. He fought it with every fiber of his body and soul but he cried. Hating his physical reaction he sobbed and buried his face deeper into the crook of her neck. He hated, absolutely  _ hated _ himself for expressing his weakness in such an unmasculate way. God, he still loathed Arthur for seeing him in an equal stated at the hospital. 

  
She didn’t speak, only held him close. Her silence allowed him to bear his grief and choke through his tears and pain. Her lack of words did not create a void, but made it easier to breath and calm him down. The flashes of memories started to blur and find their way back into the far corner of his mind.  

  
Maria untangled herself from his tightened grip and caught his gaze at eye level. Cautiously, she let her hand move to the back of his scalp. Her fingertips where bloody when she reached back, his head wound was still bleeding and he did his absolute best to keep his eyes open. The smell of damp forest ground blend with his cold sweat, the iron taste of blood, they both were covered with it. 

 

“Tommy, please, stay with me,” She whispered, reaching for his left hand. “We have to get you to a hospital.” Tightly squeezing his hand with her own, her voice betrayed her. “Please, _stay with_ _me_. You need to drive us back to a hospital.” 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N….So, I’m not going to lie. I loved writing every word of it. To build a man back up, you have to break him down. They say that a tragedy or a shared trauma can either break or make a relationship. When I started drabbling down the storyline for this story this chapter, the hospital chapter and the chapter were they play poker with Russo weren’t included yet. Simply because I didn’t make them up yet. Russo wasn’t supposed to play a big role in the story, but I’m happy he does. Again, I love a slow-burn and I needed some kind of shared process to make Tommy fall for Maria. Not just because she happens to be part of the opposite sex, or because she’s a convenient tool.**

 

**I think it’s safe to say, she has earned her stripes.**

 

**And I finally broke MuteTommy.**

 

**Xoxoxo Nukyster**


	26.  Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was Russo, he did this.” Maria blurted with a thick voice.

 

 

.-.-.

 

Polly didn’t know if she should kill her nephew herself or leave the Italian’s to do it for her when she was informed about her nephews whereabouts. 

  
One of their men had spotted Tommy, ramming one of Russo’s Chryslers straight into the red brick wall of Birmingham General Hospital. The crash had caused significant damage to the entrance of the Hospital. No doubt the Blinders would have to pay profoundly for compensation. 

His  _ fucking nerve _ … It was beyond Polly that Tommy dared to steal  _ and crash _ one of Russo’s prized cars. He must have been utterly drunk too. And if that little wench had anything to do with this, she’d cut her a smile. 

 

This was the absolute limit. What Tommy did was beyond repair and there would be serious retributions by the hands of the Italians.  

 

But maybe they could reduce the hostility by signing the Shepard back to Russo. It would be a convenient thing too, the whole place reaked of crime and shady business. Even with coppers on their payroll a chique brothel was the last thing Polly wanted to add to their business. 

 

Unfortunately no-one shared her opinion on the matter. Arthur was in seventh heaven with his new status as the owner of the largest whorehouse in town. John, understandably, shared his older brother’s joy. But honestly, Polly thought Tommy would remain the smarter one and not play with fire. 

 

‘Instead of playing with it, he burned the whole fucking house down,’ Polly bitterly thought to herself. She’d taken Arthur and John with her to the hospital. One, she needed a driver. Two she needed both of them to stand between her and Tommy once she got her hands on him. 

  
The front entrance of the hospital appeared out of a warzone. A truck was towing the wreckage of the stolen Chrysler out of the hallway when they arrived. 

  
‘Oh Tom what have you done you bloody idiot’,  Polly thought staring at the damaged car. The bonnet was destroyed and oil leaked out of the engine. Shards of glass rained down on the floor as the truck drove backwards, the front window had smashed during the collision.

  
The Chrysler was a wreckage and a total loss. 

 

Her resentment towards her nephew started to turn into worry. The car must have rammed into the building with great force. If this was what the car looked like, she could only pray that Tommy had been able to brace himself at the moment of impact. 

  
Less furious and more concerned, Polly and the two Shelby brothers walked over to the reception. And elderly nurse was busy brushing glass and grit together. Moping underneath her breath the woman looked up from her task as the three late night guest appeared at her desk. 

  
“What brings you lot here at this ungodly hour?” The nurse asked, plucking out a piece of glass of her white tier. 

  
“Word got around that Tommy Shelby has checked himself into this hospital,” Polly replied sarcastically, cocking her head into the direction of the damage done. 

 

“ _ You’re _ his family?” The eyes of the nurse narrowed behind her thick glasses and Polly knew this was going to be about money. 

  
“Listen,” she dug her hand into her red velvet purse to take out her wallet, “that idiot that demolished your front entrance happens to be my nephew.” She tossed down a hand full of coins on the counter and shoved it towards the wrinkling hands of the older woman. “Be so kind to lead us to his room so I can slap him into next week’s Sunday.” 

  
Eagerly the nurse scraped the money together, that was the moment Polly was waiting for. With one hand she pinned the veiny wrist down and reached over the reception.

  
“Listen, we are the Peaky Blinders. Do not  _ fuck _ with us. If we come back down and this place is rizzling with coppers, one of my nephews here will shove each of those pennies down your throat.”  

  
Watching her words struck fear in the poor old woman, Polly slanted back, curling her lips into a tight lipped smile and snapped. “Now where is he?” 

  
To give Polly’s threats a little more grandeur Arthur stepped in cracking his knuckles. 

  
“Where’s my fucking brother, old hag?” He spat roughly over the counter, banging his fist on the wood. 

  
Color drained from the nurse’s face, turning as palled as her uniform. 

  
“I’ll speak with his doctor, I’m not sure… i-it’s wise to have more visitors.” The nurse mumbled, rubbing her sore wrist. 

  
“ _ More _ ?!” Polly proclaimed, exchanging an alerted gaze with Arthur and John. An unsettling feeling started to submerge through her anger. For all she knew they were the only ones informed about Tommy’s whereabouts.

  
“Yes miss, his sister’s with him.” The nurse explained unaware of the panic she struck.

  
Polly stared at her two nephews in horror, they’d left Ada at the house to look after Finn. Who was claiming to be family? 

  
“Take us to ‘im!” John intermingled the conversation. 

  
The poor woman behind the counter seemed to shrink two sizes. Duteous to her profession she pitched in. “Please, I have to consult his doctor first-”

  
“The hell with it!” Arthur lost his patients with the elderly lady. Pushing Polly and John aside he pulled his gun on the nurse. “We’re here to see our brother and you’ll bring us to ‘im right now!” 

  
Instandly the nurse jumped into action and without another word led the three troublemakers to the third floor, into the recovery ward. 

  
Polly assumed the nurse wouldn’t be stupid enough to ring the coppers but whispered into Arthur’s ear that they needed to make an appointment to the director of the hospital first thing in the morning. Their family needed to make a huge donation to tarnish their poor entry. But this matter really wasn’t imported right this instance. Tommy was all that mattered. 

  
The patient’s room counted five unoccupied beds. The sixth and last one in line had it’s curtain railed around to give the patient more privacy. 

  
Without losing another second Polly flung the curtain open to expose Tommy’s mysterious visitor. 

  
It was Maria. Polly was shocked and surprised to spot Tommy’s personal voice at his bedside, but it was a most welcome surprise. For a second she’d feared that the Italian’s had slithered their way past the reception (which clearly was child’s play). 

  
Her relief didn’t last for long as she sized the young woman up. A long cut marked the girl’s forehead, specks of dried blood decorated her face as crimson freckles. Her dress was caked with the red substance and her horrified gaze told them she’d seen hell itself. 

  
With two bloody hands clenched around Tommy’s wrist she seemed to be collecting all her courage to speak. 

  
“It was Russo, he did this.” Maria blurted with a thick voice.

  
Her revelation and the sight of Tommy’s swollen, bloody and bruised face was enough to make Polly’s hairs stand up. 

  
“That fucking meatball did this?” John cursed, intensely swaying at his older brother’s unconscious body. “That bastard will pay!” Upset he kicked against an iron cart filled with bandages. The cart crashed into an empty bed and its content dropped on the floor. 

  
The noise alarmed the unconscious patient, causing him to shift and moan in his sleep. 

  
Polly exchanged gazes with Arthur, who’s veins pulsed in his neck from anger. 

  
“Arthur, I need four men at our house. Two on the front and two at the back. When you’re done, go to the Garrison to spread the word. Right now Russo is the most wanted man in Birmingham. He will bleed for this.” Polly ordered, directing herself to John. 

  
“John, you go pick up Maria’s mother and sisters. Take them to our house.”

  
“You want those Gorgers back at our home?” John exclaimed, nearly choking on his toothpick. 

  
“John, look at her!” Polly snapped back, “get her family safe!” 

  
Maria’s eyes grew the size of saucers, clearly the realisation of her family’s endangerment hadn’t occurred to her yet. 

  
Polly directed herself at the nurse. “You, get us a doctor, I want to know every goddamn detail!” 

  
The nurse immediately jumped into action, probably thrilled to leave the room. John stalled his mission, leaning onto Tommy’s iron bed frame. Concerned, he nibbled on his toothpick and glanced at his beaten brother. 

  
“John,  _ go _ ,” Polly pressed, “he’s asleep, I’ll stay with him. Now _ please _ , do what I asked you to do. When you are at the house, inform Ada to stay inside and lock the door.” 

  
She moved close to Arthur and whispered in his ear. “Find that son of a bitch before he flees the country!”

  
Arthur nodded and grabbed his younger brother by the shoulder and both went off to fulfil their duty.  

  
As soon as the Shelby duo left the room, Polly allowed herself to sink down at the seat next to Tommy’s bed, facing Maria. The girl seemed to be carrying the weight of the world, watching through tearfilled eyes how Tommy’s chest moved gradually up and down. 

  
Polly granted Maria a half-hearted smile, stepping over the grudge she felt towards the young woman ever since she managed to brightened Tommy’s life in ways Polly failed herself.  

  
‘Stupid boy, what have you gotten yourself into?’ She thought, watching her nephew’s eyes roll behind his lids. The notorious Blinder devil looked like a disfigured broken doll, pale as porcelain. His right arm was wrapped in a sling. An IV maintained his antibiotics and painkillers. It was a sinister trip down memory lane, although the previous time he had a tube down his throat. For a long time the only sound noticeable was Tommy’s breathing. 

  
“Who’s blood is that on you, love?” Polly asked soft-spoken. 

  
Maria slowly looked away from Tommy’s swollen face and stared at her hands as if she only noticed now that she was covered with it. 

  
“Russo’s, Tommy’s. Not sure what’s from who,”carefully she reached for her forehead and winched when she touched the nasty cut, “some is mine I guess. I think this one’s from the car crash. The glass cut me pretty bad.” 

  
She swallowed hard and her chin was shaking. “Russo tortured him. And he made me watch.” The girl revealed with a rigid expression. Without a tremble in her voice Maria started to report what happened the moment they were ambushed by the Italian’s after Tommy’s hospital appointment. How they knocked Tommy unconscious and then threw them into the back of a truck and taken them to Russo’s mansion. 

  
“For a while I feared they’d cracked his head,” Maria spook soft, “he kept throwing up in the truck and he wasn’t responding to anything I said.” 

  
In detail she shared how they’d been at Russo’s mercy down in the basement. How he had one of his men slowly dislocate Tommy’s shoulder and used his own foot to break his cheekbone.   
  


Polly stared at the horrendous state of Tommy’s face and could feel her stomach joilt and her blood run cold. 

  
Maria used that time to collect courage to continue. Ashamed she revealed that she’d been forced down on her knees to serve as Russo’s whore. 

  
“But I cut him,” Maria added with venom and satisfaction, “I cut him good.” 

  
She filled Polly briefly how they’d managed to reach the garage and how eventually Tommy, at the absolute end of his wits, drove them straight into the hospital. 

  
“He needs to be alright,” Maria sniffled, rubbing roughly through her face to wipe away some tears, “he needs to.” 

  
“He will be alright,” Polly promised, more to herself then to the girl, “he’s a Shelby. They’re all blessed with thick skulls and nine lives.” 

  
Maria nodded with a downturned gaze, ironing Tommy’s sheets with her hands to occupy herself. 

 

Polly sighed deep, studying her nephews steady breathing. It was a twisted deja vu. When Tommy returned from France, Arthur had been back for about a week. The oldest brother had gravely informed their family about Tommy’s heroic efforts, saving the lives of others. He’d paid a high price. He suffered from major head trauma and had been in surgery for several hours. In which the surgeons had drilled a hole in his skull to relieve the pressure on his brain. He’d been in a coma for three weeks and suffering from brain damage. How severe? No-one could tell. 

  
When he’d finally been fit enough to be transported, he slept an entire day at Birmingham’s General Hospital. For the first few weeks he hadn’t been able to lift his chin up or control his bladder. Lights and voices over-stimulated his brain and gave him horrible migraines. Sitting up was a challenge, walking had been out of the question.  

 

Polly had seen it in his eyes, he didn’t want to be alive. Not like this. 

  
“What about my mum and sisters?” Maria suddenly exclaimed. “What if-”

  
“-John’s making sure they are safe. I promise you that they’re safe,” Polly interrupted her, “once either Arthur or John’s back, you’ll be taken to Watery Lane. You lot will stay there until that bastard’s caught.” 

  
Maria nodded dully and sank back into her seat, then added. “But what if Tommy wakes up, I’m his speaker it’s my job to-”

  
“-If he wakes up his family will be here, that’s what he needs right now,  _ kin _ ,” Polly empathized, “besides you’ve done enough, you should get some rest.” 

  
Maria narrowed her eyes, unpleased by Polly’s orders but didn’t object.   
  
A doctor came in and introduced himself as Dr Graves. The man appeared nervous and stuttered, the words of Arthur pulling a gun had spread rapidly through the halls of the hospital.   
  


Polly listened to the doctor, wondering how much money it was going to take to stifle the whole affair. 

  
Loosening the tie around his neck, Dr Graves filled Polly in with the details. As Maria had mentioned, Tommy suffered from a concussion. It was too early to tell how severe and since the patient wasn’t conscious, they weren’t able to perform any tests. His cheekbone was broken, but wouldn’t be needing surgery. His dislocated shoulder had been set back and he had to be wearing a sling for a couple of weeks. A nurse had disinfected the scrapped open skin on his temple and stitched the wound on the back of his head. The moment he’d been placed under Dr Graves care they’d fetched him up with a high dose of painkillers and antibiotics, to minimise the pain and the chance of a possible infection.  

  
Polly’s eyes must have shot daggers along the way, because dots of sweat started to form on the balding head of Dr Graves as he finished up the status of his infamous patient. 

  
“Is he in a coma?” Polly asked pragmatically. 

  
“No miss, it’s just the morphine doing it’s work. He’s fast asleep and won’t wake up until tomorrow morning. I suggest you lot do the same-”

  
“-The hell with that, I’m not abandoning my nephew.” Polly spat to the physician, determined she wrapped her arms over each other and craned her head back to Tommy. “You can leave.”

  
The footsteps of the doctor rapidly retreated to the hallway, the man was probably very relieved to be leaving. 

  
Tommy’s eyes moved rapidly behind his lids and a groan escaped the back of his throat, for a moment his fingers twitched before his whole body slumbred back into relaxation. 

  
Polly vengefully made her nephew a solemn promise. That the Italian bastard was going to pay, with blood and broken bones. 

 

.-.-.

  
From the moment she left the hospital, escorted by Arthur who’d informed her that her family was safe, she’d forced herself to keep her face in shape. The oldest of the Shelby brother’s drove her home, asking about a thousand of questions. Aware her words were key to capture Russo she tried to answer everything by the best of her ability. 

 

It was not the time to let her emotions run free, besides she highly doubted Arthur would be able to comfort her. She summed up basically the same facts she’d given Polly, leaving out the part in which she nearly served as Russo’s sex slave. Honestly, the thought of the scene made her get sick inside the car. For the second time she threw up inside Arthur’s car, luckily in time to reach for the door handle and empty her stomach on the pavement instead of the upholstery.

  
Throwing up had a positive side effect, it made Arthur’s inquiry pause and put on hold. The rest of their swift car ride her driver spent mostly cursing. 

  
Her mother materialized utter distress. When they’d arrived at Watery Lane the flock of frightened women immediately rushed up from their seat. Maria’s sisters wept and threw themselves around their older sibling. Ada ushered Finn to get the kettle hot and hugged her older brother briefly. 

  
Maria’s mother walked to her oldest daughter with trembling features. Grazing her daughter’s blood spattered chin, as if she didn’t believe Maria was right in front of her. 

  
The embrace from her mum had been so tightening it hurt, but Maria welcomed every second of it. She’d give anything to be a young child again. Memories of the countless times her mother held her during her childhood, kissing away small pains and hugging away childish fears. At their farm, her parents would always make all the hurt and monsters go away. 

  
But these monsters would not fade by the caressing touch of her mother’s arms. The sight of violence and torture, just for the sake of revenge and entertainment, it was etched into her mind and soul. The utter, maddening and blinding rage that coursed through her body had been so alien. The gratification of slishing into Russo’s flesh gave her a sickening rush, Tommy’s screams of agony still ringing in her ears. 

  
Maybe she could tell others the devil made her do it, but deep inside she was completely aware she got a kick out of it. Watching Russo’s face morph from self indulgence to a mixture of pain and fear, had been fulfilling beyond measure. 

  
From the moment she’d stepped out of Small Heath’s train station, an ulcer had feasted itself inside her soul. And everytime she was subjected to violence, maltreatment and the feeling of being completely powerless, the ulcer grew.  It grew and grew. And this times it bursted and the puss rushed out, as the blood gushed through Russo’s hands. 

  
Would her mum’s arms still hold her so caringly, if she knew her daughter was turning into a monster? 

  
Arthur had gone back to the hospital, notioning that there were four of their men guarding the place. The moment the door slammed shut Ada spit out a list of questions. Maria told her to ask those questions later, to either Arthur or Polly. During the ride to Watery Lane she’d been ordered by Arthur to keep her mouth shut to everyone. Especially to Ada and Finn, who didn’t need to be bothered by their brother’s horrible ordeal. 

  
Ada had pleaded, whining and eventually cursed her for being a lousy friend. Maria honestly couldn’t care less, gave her a vacant stare and retreated to the solitude of the bathroom. 

  
In there she finally broke down. The mirror showed her no remorse, the reflection of her blood splattered face and glazed eyes startled her first. But her paralyzation evaded when her fingers ran over the droplets of blood, that decorated her face. 

  
Her hands, smeared with crimson, rushed to get the water running. While lukewarm murky water drizzled down the first sobs escaped her lips. Tearing her bloody clothes off her body she stumbled into the shower and sank to her knees. 

  
Pink water ran, along her feet, down the drain. A colorful token of her trip through hell. It was right then and there were her detachment perished and made place for lament. 

  
It wasn’t just for Tommy, no it mostly was for herself. Innocents lost by the hands of a mad man. Mind tainted for good and deflowered from childish trust in the goodness of the world. 

  
God went North the moment He took her brother and father away from her. And God clearly made no effort to find His way back to her. 

  
Small Heath must be close to the mouth of hell, because she surely had seen the devil in Russo’s eyes. And in her own. 

  
Her body grew limp, slowly sinking down onto the wet tiles. With her back pressed against the wall she scrunched her legs up and sobbed softly against her knees. 

  
Later, when she dried herself off and wrapped the towel over her body, she did not bother to go back downstairs. Instead she walked in a straight line into Tommy’s bedroom. A fortress of blankets and pillows was made for its sudden guests and she allowed herself to curl down onto the floor and search comfort in the softness. 

  
The distinctive scent of Tommy overwhelmed her and she reflectively squeezed the pillow into her cheeks. 

  
He saved her. 

  
He even had been willing to sacrifice himself to save her. Throw himself in front of blood thirsty lions, to save her. Even though he found out first hand how sadistic Russo was, he’d been willing to undergo another round of Russo’s macabre game to  _ save her _ . 

  
Swallowing a lump that didn’t go away she squeezed her eyes shut. Pretending to be fast asleep as her two siblings and scooped aside her, she repeatedly tried to swallow the thickness that blocked the back of her throat. 

  
Maria waited until she hear her mum softly go to bed and waited a little longer until she heard her mother’s steady breathing. 

  
Slowly she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Her mother’s fear of the dark left enough light to shine through the crack of the door, showing the features of the wooden ceiling.

  
Tommy needed to be alright and wake up. Because she had an awful lot to tell him. 

  
He needed to know how brave he’d been. That she was aware of the huge sacrifices he’d been willing to make for her. And that she wouldn’t tell a single soul about that atonement. That partly was self prefortation too, she honestly did not want anyone to know she’d pulled a gun on herself to coach Tommy back on his feet. 

  
He needed to wake up, because she needed to tell him that he mattered. A lot, to her. He’d given her miserable mediocre life purpose. Sure, joining his path would only cast her further away from the road of righteousness. But in all honesty, that bridge seemed to have been burned down long before Tommy interference.  

  
Softly, she rolled on her side and wilted her body around that of her younger sister May. Her sibling stirred momentary and reflectively drew her arms around the neck of Maria. 

  
Her family was safe underneath the roof of the Shelby’s and that was what mattered. There was no more room in her life for black and white. Yet, since today the color red smeared through her grey. And she would remember that, she wouldn’t be able to forget todays horrible event anyway.  

  
Feeling her sister’s warm breath she kissed the young girl’s forehead and buried her face into Tommy’s pillow. 

  
  


.-.-.

 

**A/N: I think this chapter speaks for itself. Things are building up. Good things and bad things. Let use all keep our fingers crossed that Tommy wakes up, so I can continued this slow-burn.**

 

**Make my weekend, leave a comment:)**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	27. Post-Somme all over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His family, their presence crippled him. They where the weight of the world he’d tried to maintain on his shoulders.

**A/N: Writing this chapter, I’ve been listening to Arcade from Duncan Laurence, it’s from a singer from my home country (yay Dutchies yay) and very suiting for Tommy’s state of mind.**

 

 

.-.-.

 

Tommy’s body felt comfortably numb when he came to a half conscious state. An IV needle pierced through his skin, momentarily subduing the pain. His eyes darted around beneath his lids and he could overhear voices.   
  
Drained from energy he felt detached from his body, numbed by painkillers. A complete contrast of the last time he’d been conscious, the memory of the excruciating pain lay fresh in his memory. So this bizarre numbness, it didn’t ease the on-edge feeling. It didn’t lull the  _ flight or fight _ in his soldiers mind. 

 

This strange out-of-body experience made his stomach tighten and his throat go bone dry. 

 

Scanning his surroundings was going to be deviant task. What if he’d open his eyes and he was back at the quarters of Russo? In this state he was unable to stop whatever form of violence the Italian would cast down upon him. And Maria, the girl was his weakness. Russo knew he cared for his speaker and would be most happy to inflict the worst punishment down on her while he helplessly watched.

  
Disoriented, he tried to looked through his lashes to discover his whereabouts. Familiar white tiled walls, briefly cleared the thickness of his throat. So, they made it to the hospital. 

  
The voices paused their soft mummering. Familiar ones. He recognized the gruff voice of Arthur, thickened with concern. Ada’s silvery tone, never able to zip her lips. John’s tremulous curses sounded like music to his ears. Finn’s rapid footsteps tottered through the room and Polly scolded his younger brother to stop playing around.    
  
His kin was present, but where was his speaker? He needed to know for certain that she was alright.     
  
Softly he moaned, breaking his head to recover his short-term memory. Snapshots of fading in and out of conscious. Laying on cold moist stones, screaming his throat raw from the pain of his dislocated shoulder, Maria forced down on her knees.   
  
His jaws clenched and his left hands balled into a fist.    
  


Then slowly it came to mind that Russo had fled, with his mutilated cock wrapped in his hands.    
  
Clever girl…

  
With the delightful memory of Russo’s face in utter panic, Tommy opened one eye.      
  
The little sign of consciousness was enough to send a shockwave through the room. While his vision still blurred he noticed familiar contours rushing to his bed.    
  
“He’s waking up!” The loud, skull piercing voice of Arthur beckoned relieved. Tommy felt the petite familiar form of Ada’s hand wrapping itself firmly around his left and squeeze it tight.    
  
Lacking the strength to mimic her motion he coughed and tried to clear the thick lump form his throat. His mouth felt like sandpaper and his face felt wrong, different, as if it wasn’t his own. His brain started to register the absence of his right eye and panic knotted around his neck as a slipknot. Had the beaten taken its toll on his already damage head? Had he gone partly blind?

 

If so, could one of his brothers find it in their heart to smother him with a pillow?   
  
Then he remembered a particular fine boot ungracefully stomping down on his face, snapping his cheekbone. He simply wasn’t using his right eye because the swelling wouldn’t allow it. 

 

Oh, what a pitiful beat up sight he must be.    
  
“Thomas, can you hear us?” The dark contour of his aunt Pol reached forward, stroking his disheveled hair.    
  
A disapproving groan escaped the back of his throat and he turned his face away. He wasn’t her fucking lap dog.    
  
His family was safe. That realisation meant the world to him, but immediately created a long gaping wound. They were alright and he wasn’t, far from it. And they were all in line to clarify that. 

 

His family, their presence crippled him. They where the weight of the world he’d tried to maintain on his shoulders. And then there were his own demons he could not kill. Shame and inner resentment where like two mongrel dogs, either one sinking their teeth in his calves and tugging him off-balance.     
  
His family, although he loved them more then he valued his life, they needed to get out of the room.  _ Go _ . He was hurt, badly. Once the sedatives wore off, he’d be in a great deal of pain. And it was his duty to carry that burden, alone. He’d been through it before. But he honestly couldn’t stand the thought of anyone standing aside if he might lose control.     
  
“Tommy!” His youngest brother pushed himself through the layer of adults and clung to his bedsheets. The wailing of the youngster caused him to grunt and he tried to move his right hand towards the heart shattering noise.    
  
His right shoulder burned even through the high doses of painkillers and he was surprised to find out a sling enabled him to move his injured limb. 

  
For fucks sake, they might as well tie him down to the fucking bed. With vision clearing, the faces of his family became painfully clear of their shared distress.    
  
This was the post-Somme all over again.    
  
He groaned and flinched when one of his brother’s took hold of his good shoulder and squeezed it lightly.    
  
Their presence was honestly paralyzing and caused more stress than good.    
  
“I think he wants to say something,” John stated with a poor pick of words, making Tommy’s good eye roll to the back of his skull. 

  
“Thomas, would you like to write anything down?” Polly asked him soft and kindly. Her caring word only stirred up the fire inside his chest, but he nodded, letting his eyes shifted over everyone present inside the room. 

  
Ada and Finn sat at his left, both at eye level, which he quickly dodged. Arthur and John stood at his right, towering over him. Polly walked across the room to fetch him a pen and a piece of paper. 

  
Receiving a basic way of expressing himself his inexperience fingers of his left hand awkwardly curled around the pen. 

  
His message was short and blunt:  _ Get out _ . The characters where shivery and messy, it caused him tremendous effort to keep the pen steady in his hand. 

  
When he didn’t receive the response he wanted, he underlined his message and dropped the pen on the floor, cutting himself off from communication.    
  
“Let’s give him a moment, everyone,” Polly decided, continuing in the same soft spoken tone. Her frail bearing plagued him, she stood there as if she was at his fucking funeral. Gravely moarnsome and deseveled from her usual strong self.    
  


Tommy glared at her, although with a face like his it probably didn’t show.     
  
Ada ushered the bawling Finn to move away from his bed. But his younger brother only tightened his fists firmer around the white sheets. 

  
“ _ NO _ , I’m not going! Last time you never took me to the hospital. I wanna be here, I wanna stay with Tommy!” His youngest brother shouted, throwing his head back in his neck. “It’s not fair, everyone always treats me like a child!”    
  
“That’s because you are one!” Ada snapped and caught him firmly by the elbow, “now shut it. You’re able to bring the entire morgue back to life with a sound like that!” Pointing back at Tommy she continued, “he’s hurt, you’re screaming isn’t helping. So stop it and do what Polly says.”    
  
“Tommy?” Finn’s trembling fingers run over the back of Tommy’s hand. For a moment he granted his little brother a sideway stare. “Please, be alright.”    
  
Tommy blinked with the one eye that functioned and focused on the door. Disappointed but obedient his little brother followed the rest of the family out of the hospital room. 

 

Only Polly remained at his bedside and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully when Tommy drew a tiny cross on his chest.    
  
“The girl?” Polly questioned. “You’re concerned about  _ her _ ?”    
  
Tommy managed to give his aunt a tiny affirmative nod. Exhaustion was creeping up on him and the last thing on his mind was having a conversation with his aunt, but he know for certain Maria was alright.    
  
“She banged her head during the collision, but she’ll live.” Polly informed him factual, wrapping her hands together and placing them on the side of the bed. “She’s safe. And so is her family, their all at our house, for the time being.”   
  
Relieve washed over him. She was safe. 

 

That was all the information he needed from his aunt. Slowly he nudged his head at the door and pulled his hand back when his aunt tried to hold it. 

  
Polly’s eyes lost their caresome glow, her lips pressed into a tight line as she whispered. “Don’t do this, Tom, don’t cast us out like you did before.” 

  
Tommy growled and with all the effort he could muster he gave her wrists a faint push. He didn’t want her to be near. Not right now, not like this. Not today and not tomorrow. This was his cross to bear, he needed to do this alone. 

 

“No, you’re not doing this again!” Polly resolutely snapped and took hold of his jaw. She knew it must be painful, it was pretty obvious with a mangled face like that. But her grip didn’t ease and she forced him to look her in the eyes. 

  
“I will not have it, you are not go to lock yourself away from our family. Don’t you dare Thomas Shelby.”    
  
Even in this state, she was not going to pressure him into anything he didn’t want to be doing. And right now he didn’t want her to have a conversation with him. 

 

So, Tommy threw in his last resort and closed his eye. Of all the Shelby brother’s he’d always been the most stubborn one. His mum had sneered numerous of times that his hardheadedness would be the end of him. His mum only failed to realise it was his stubbornness and resilience that kept their family out of the poorhouse and provided food on the table. Back in the day, he’d throw that at her feet, every time she’d scorn at him for being  _ just like his father _ . 

 

And that was the big difference between his mum and his aunt. While his mum would surrender to his enheritate callousness and lack of respect, his aunt would throw his misdeeds at his feet and cut him to the bone.

  
“I’ve given you back a voice, I’ve gotten you out of those damn stables. I’m not letting you dwell back on your path to self destruction and suicide, I will not have it!”

  
_ Fuck.  _ His good eye flashed back open and his mouth dropped slightly ajar, he hadn’t been aware of her knowledge of the lonesome road he’d settled with. 

  
“Oh, I knew,” Polly answered his silent question, “damn you for being so blind, Tom. I’ve known you since you where a child, raised you as my own. I love you and will murder for you. But that doesn’t mean I’ll patiently stand aside while I see you slowly kill yourself. You’ve always been the hardest one to love, simply because you don’t  _ allow _ yourself to be loved. You don’t allow yourself to take your guard down or feel something.  _ Anything _ . You are calloused and hide everything behind that stoic mask of yours. I know it pains you to see us here, but damn it, Thomas,  _ allow _ us to be here. We’ve mourned for you, hell, we’ve all shed our tears for you. We love you and want you to be a part of our family.” 

  
Her words cut him like knives. She’d seen him, the real him. The broken man behind the mask. The man that didn’t think his life was worth living. Not like this, not while missing such a big piece that made him whole and complete. Not while he lost his speech, locked up and shut out of the rest of the world.    
  
Tommy persistently closed his left eye and tilted his head away from his aunt. 

 

And that was another weight being thrown on his shoulders. He still had to inform his family about the outcome of his hospital appointment with Dr Rivers. That yes, matter of fact, their brother and nephew would remain handicapped for the rest of his life. That yes, his brain damage was too severe to regain his speech. That he’d be forever trapped inside a body that couldn’t utter a fucking word. 

 

And that he could never be the Tommy Shelby from before. That a part of him would remain dead and rotting at the Somme. 

  
As he kept his eyelids firmly in place he overheard her sigh and curse underneath her breath. In defeat his aunt stood up and let him be, just as he’d intended to. As was necessary to keep his head from falling further apart. 

 

.-.-.

 

She’d been reading for quite a while before she noticed any sign of consciousness coming from her employer. Startled, she folded the page she’d been reading and placed the worn cover of  _ The Wonderful Wizard of Oz _ on top of the iron nightstand. 

  
It took him two blinks before recognition dawned from his face. Failing to raise his arm to hers, he sighed deeply and carefully touched his own forehead and lower lip. 

  
“It’s nothing,” Maria whispered, referring to her cut and busted lip. 

  
Tommy didn’t respond, looking past her, scanning his surroundings. Weakly he tapped on his wrist. 

  
“It’s half past twelve in the afternoon, you’ve slept an awful long time.” She informed him. 

  
Tommy fumbled with his white sheets and started fingerspelling:  _ R-u-s-s-o. _

_   
_ “Your brothers are after him. Word’s out on the streets, he has a major prize on his head. But so far their hunt has been fruitless,” Maria had to say to her displeasure, then continued, “your aunt is meeting with the head of the hospital. Mending walls...well mending about literally the wall, I guess. She will be back soon.” 

  
He nodded slow, flinched and baring his teeth. Clearly the drugs were wearing off.

  
“I shall get the nurse, you’re allowed to take more morphine if you need it.” Maria told him and was surprised to see him shake his head. 

 

“You don’t want me to get the nurse?” 

  
A nod.

  
She furrowed her brows, searching for his motives. “You don’t want to take more pain medication?”

 

Another nod.

  
“Why not?” 

  
He raised one eyebrow and Maria realised she asked him an open question. 

  
“But you’re in pain,” she stated, failing to find the right question. 

  
He shrugged with his left shoulder and threw his gaze upwards, face wrenching from pain. 

  
Tommy’s stubbornness baffled Maria and the familiar pain plagued moans rabitly brought back memories of Russo’s basement. Instead of an icy cold floor her employer withered in his hospital bed, tangling the sheets in between his fingers. 

  
The poor girl didn’t know how fast she could get on her feet to find a nurse. 

 

Within minutes she came back to Tommy’s ward. The Shelby family had paid an immense fee to maintain a private room for him. A good spend, because Tommy was at the end of his wits. Sweat gushed down his neck and his sounds nearly seemed unearthly. 

  
One of nurses she’d met briefly followed right behind her holding a syringe and a new IV bag. The look on Tommy’s face was enough to murder a fully grown man. His pupils flared up when the docile nurse in arms length and reached up to change his empty IV bag. 

  
“You’re at a starting dose of 2.5 mg morphine, for every for hours,” The nurse informed her hostile patient, “I can higher the dose to 5 mg for you.”

  
Tommy shook his head determinedly, confusing the caretaker. 

  
“He doesn’t want it,” Maria clarified, nervously plucking on her sleeve. 

  
“But you are in pain mister Shelby, there is no shame in taking that away.” The nurse consoled, reading over his shard. 

  
Tommy remained to shake affirmatively.

  
The nurse exchanged gazes with Maria and eyed up her patient’s bearing.

  
“I will be back in fifteen minutes,” she announced, experienced with bullheaded patients.

 

Clearly the nurse was a star at her profession, because within fifteen minutes Tommy was back in full agony, sucking in breaths of air through his teeth.  

  
“Would you like to get a higher doses now, Mister Shelby?”

  
A faint nod was enough for the nurse to fulfil her task and reduce her patient’s pain. The morphine kicked in quite rapidly. Tommy’s breathing steadied and his muscles gradually relaxed.   
  
Scribbling down something on Tommy’s shard the nurse excused herself and left to take care of other patients. 

  
Maria knew it was wise to keep her mouth shut and quietly held out a glass of water, so he could sip from a straw.

  
He glared at her but wetted his chapped lips and sucked on the straw. Draining the glass his eyes received a glazed stare, the morphine took over. 

  
_ N-e-e-d-t-o-t-a-k-e-a-p-i-s-s,  _ Tommy’s fingers sloppily spelled, his head nudged towards a chamberpot. 

  
Maria’s cheeks flushed and found it difficult to be the one to inform him “You have a catheter,” she murmured awkwardly and confused on the tip of her shoes. 

 

She overheard Tommy grunt as he pulled his blankets up to see the damage and sighed deeply when he lowered the sheets over his chest. 

  
_ G-o-h-o-m-e _ , Tommy spelled when she looked up. 

  
“But I’m your speaker,” she stated, half pleading. She’d practically begged his brother Arthur to take her back to the hospital. The oldest of the Shelby’s had been reluctant at first, but when she stated that she wasn’t much use at the house and would be a great contribute as Tommy’s speaker, he eventually gave in. Polly had been anything but pleased to see her appear behind Arthur and threw a fit. 

  
Maria had been quiet when Polly badmouthed about her. Clutching her hands around her book and waited patiently to be either granted permission to stay or to be kicked out. That would be the worst case scenario, but even then, at least she’d been out of the house for a while.   
  


The tension in Watery Lane was more than suffocation. She hadn’t slept, all through the night images of Russo’s basement kept her up. Scared to fall asleep and wake up crying, frightening her sisters and mum, she’d firmly kept her eyes open until the early morning. 

  
All through the house she had to walk on eggshells. Ada wasn’t on speaking terms and ignored her with a chin-up attitude. Finn was kind to her but kept babbling all kinds of questions she’d rather not answer. Her mum tried a vary of tactics to get any word out of her, but she didn’t budge. She’d rather sow her lips together then telling her mum about last night affair. 

 

The two older Shelby brother’s came back shortly after breakfast. Worn, tired and unsuccessful to hunt down Russo or even get a hint on his whereabouts. Therefore both of them where in a sour mood and snarled at her to bring them coffee and toast. 

  
When John headed upstairs to change into a fresh outfit, Maria used that time pleading to Arthur. The leader of the Peaky Blinders appeared harsh with his gruff voice and large supply of never ending curse words, but he treated her better than John and therefore seemed more reasonable. 

  
When he eventually snapped at her to ‘get in the fucking car,’ she’d eagerly obeyed and snatched the only book off the shelf. She’d figured that Tommy would remain unconscious for a while and she’d rather spend that time reading then counting tiles. 

 

“Would you rather have your aunt at your bedside?” Maria questioned.

  
Tommy seemed to weigh out his options and sighed deeply. Dozed he raised his fingers to his lips and mimicked a cigarette.

  
“I don’t have any on me,” Maria informed him hesitant, “and you’re not allowed to smoke in here.” She was granted a raised middle finger and an eye roll. His gaze fixated on the book resting on the iron cart. 

  
_ F-i-n-n,  _ he fingerspelled, nudging his chin towards the worn edition of  _ The Wonderful Wizard of Oz _ . 

  
_ F-a-v-o-r-i-t-e,  _ he continued and his features softened. 

  
Maria noticed and used his easing state to her advantage. 

  
“It used to be my favorite book too. My nana gave it to me for my sixth birthday. She used the story to teach my how to read. I’d never been as gifted as my brother, and a mess with reading. I’d always mix the characters and had a terrible handwriting. I’ve never been fond of reading, but that book made it more fun. I read it all the time. But then my nana died rather suddenly. I couldn’t stand reading a page and never picked it up ever since.” 

 

She smiled watery, remembering the countless hours she’d spend on her nana’s lap, reading the words after her. 

  
“It’s a lovely story,” she stated, staring at the faded drawing of the cowardly lion, “I can imagine you reading it to Finn.” 

 

_ T-h-o-u-s-a-n-d-t-i-m-e-s,  _ Tommy spelled sloppy,  _ b-e-f-o-r-e. _

_   
_ “France,” Maria filled in softly and Tommy blinked his good eye.  

  
_ R-e-a-d _ , Tommy spelled and shifted uncomfortably in his bed. For a moment pain flashed upon his face and he pulled the sheets up to his chest,  _ t-o-m-e. _

_   
_ For a moment Maria thought she’d misinterpreted his spelling but when he nudged his chin to the cart she eagerly picked up the book. 

  
In a quiet gentle voice she started to read the first chapter. Ever so often she’d glance over the novel and catch Tommy’s empty stare fixation on the wall facing him. The drawn-down corners of his mouth exposed the plagued state he was in. 

  
But he didn’t send her away and listened to her storytelling. He snorted when she stuttered, misreading a word. 

  
After a few pages Tommy’s bearing relaxed and slowly lulled back to sleep. 

  
It was Polly who made him snap his good eye back open and startled Maria. Quickly she lowered the book and stopped reading. 

 

“You’re awake!” Polly exclaimed breathlessly and ushered Maria off her seat, “Good, Finn and Ada will be here soon!” Positioning herself next to her nephew she picked up his good hand and pressed it against her cheek. “Let them in.” 

  
Maria was aware that Polly wasn’t talking in the literal way and felt oddly out of place. 

 

As an intruder. And Polly made her very aware that her presence was no longer wanted. The older woman didn’t need to say her word, her stern gaze was enough to get her going.

“You can wait down at the reception, either John or Arthur will escort you home. You will stay there until further notice.” Polly informed her coldly, clearly annoyed that Arthur dropped her off in the first place. 

  
Maria quickly silenced the burning desire to stand up to Polly. Reveal that, she was the reason they made it out of Russo’s hellhole. But that would probably demolish whatever was left of Tommy’s self esteem and confession that she’d pulled a gun on herself frightened her. 

 

So she sucked up her pride, bit her lower lip and duck her hands in her pockets, ready to leave. 

 

Her fingers brushed over the leather cover of Tommy’s old notebook. She’d snatched it out of Tommy’s jacket when they were tossed into the basement. Fearing what possible asset the notes could be for Russo she’d hid it in the hem of her underskirt. 

 

Because of the literal hell she’d went through the notebook had been the least thing on her mind. She’d refound the notebook in the morning after receiving clean clothes by a pinch-lipped Ada who announced that she needed to clean her trash out of their bathroom. With trash the teenage girl meant Maria’s bloody clothes. 

 

She’d planned to give the notebook back to Tommy, but Polly’s staredown made it quite clear that she needed to leave the room, right this instant. 

  
“Bye, Tommy.” She muttered hastily, picked up Finn’s favorite book and quickly tottered out into the hallway. Halfway downstairs she crossed Finn, Ada, and Arthur. To her dread she realised that meant she’d been brought back to Watery Lane by John.  

  
The car ride was fast and unpleasant. Besides John snarling about the fact that he wasn’t her ‘fucking chauffeur’, the young man didn’t speak a word with her. 

  
When John dropped her off he immediately took off, heading back to the hospital. A grim looking man with a large shining earring and a Peaky hat was posting at the doorway and introduce himself as Scutboat. He opened the door for her, informing her that he’d be at the house for the next eight hours or so. 

  
Maria’s mother shook up from a slumber and sat up from a leather arm chair. The dark circles underneath her eyes were enough to tell Maria that the both of them had been pretended to be asleep last night.   

  
_ Talk to me _ , her mum signed,  _ who’s the Italian? _

_   
_ Maria wasn’t surprised by her mother’s question. Keen on finding out about her daughters late nights wearabouts and bloody clothes she’d probably read everyone’s lips, while playing stupid. 

 

“A bad man mum, a very bad man,” she shared reluctant, “you need to promise me to keep April, May, and yourself inside this house. Until they find him, it’s not safe to go outside.” 

  
_ Then why do you go outside, totter of with those wicked lots?  _ Her mother fired back. 

  
“Because Tommy needs my assistance,” she snapped, “because it’s my job and because I want to. That Russo is a sick man and needs to pay for all the crimes he commited.” 

  
_ And how will he pay _ ? He mother questioned, raising an eyebrow,  _ so far I’ve seen guns being brought into this house. And knives, even an musket. These people will play for their own judge and that’s immoral. Criminal and against the law.  _

_   
_ It shocked her how indifferent she felt about the possible assassination of Russo. That man would probably slither his way out with a great sum of money before he even made it to trial. And a man that wicked did not deserve to walk away from his horrendous crimes. He needed to pay. 

  
“Read my lips mum. I don’t want to talk about this with you, just promise me you’ll keep yourself and the twins safe inside.” She told her mother firmly.

 

Snatching a few biscuits from the counter she headed upstairs, in need for some solitude.  

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: Oh, isn’t Tommy cute when he’s all busted, depressed and hospitalised? Yes, I think so to. I’m going to exploit his misery a bit more because I really loved writing this damaged side of him.** ****  
**  
** **Also, I’d like to thank all readers, this story is well over the 2000 views and I’ve received many kunos! When I started Speechless I honestly didn’t think I’d keep up the drive to write, but this story is practically writing itself. Your kind words, views and kudos are a big part of my muse!**

 

**Next chapter might take a while, I’m going on a holiday pretty soon and work is very time consuming at the moment. I might be able to squeeze in another chapter before I go, but if not, please bear with me.**

 

**Xoxoxo Nukyster**

 

_ _

  
  
  



	28. Weighing war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the last people Tommy expected to see sitting at his hospital bed was Vicente Changretta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay and possible horrible grammar errors. This chapter was completed more than a week ago. But my beta-read seems to have vanished.
> 
> I’d like to once more address that English isn’t my first language and I have dyslexia. So I am looking for a beta-reader. If I can’t find a new one, I won’t be posting more chapters and if I will they’ll have a degree of grammar error. So please, if you can help me, send me a message!

 

 

.-.-.

 

One of the last people Tommy expected to see sitting at his hospital bed was Vicente Changretta. 

 

Shocked he stared through his one good eye at the Italian who tipped his fedora hat up respectfully. 

  
His surprise rapidly replaced itself to rage, because the nerve. The fucking  _ nerve _ . 

  
With a mixture of painkillers and spurring adrenaline Tommy’s eye shot through the room, in desperate search for anything that could possible be used as a weapon. The fact that he could barely keep his chin up momentarily wiped itself from his brain.  

  
“Tommy, relax,” Arthur’s voice ordered him short but steady.

  
Dumbfounded, he paused his scavengers hunt and tilted his head to the right. His brother sat beside him, strangely calm about the Italian sitting in their middle.

  
“He’s not here to retaliate,” Arthur explained, narrowing his eyes at the Godfather of the Italian district, “on the contrary.”

  
The elderly man brought down his hat to his lap. Wiping a silken handkerchief over his thinning hairline, Vicente broadened his shoulders.

  
“We are all terribly shocked and sorry for my cousin’s outrageous behavior. I can ensure you the rest of the family were not in anyway aware of his plans.” Vicente nervously stared from one Shelby to the other. 

  
“I’m here to beg for the safety of the rest of my family. We’ve never had any bad blood between our family or businesses. We’ve kept on our side, welcomed your men in our restaurants and clubs. I plead to you, mister Shelby,” the Italian turned fully to Tommy, clasping his hands together, “that you won’t spill unnecessary blood. I have innocent children and grandchildren.”

  
“Do you honestly think we’ll let Russo’s actions go with a blink of an eye?” Arthur stated coldly, “look what your kind did to my brother.” He snapped, extending his arm to Tommy’s mangled form.  

  
“If this is about money, I can insure you-” Vicente started but Arthur cut him immediately off.

 

“-Fuck you and your money, what we want is Russo’s head on a stick. You get us have Russo, we’ll do the rest. We all know your lot doesn’t like to get their hands dirty,” Arthur added snarling. 

  
Tommy felt like a passive bystander and couldn’t do much more than stare from one gang leader to the other. He was honestly impressed that Arthur wasn’t at the Italian’s throat by now and although he couldn’t mingle into the conversation, he liked where things were going. 

  
“You want no innocent blood on your hands, you deliver us Russo,” Arthur stated, giving Tommy a sideway glance. Tommy nodded weakly and quickly stared at Vicente.

  
The Italian paled and his forehead creased. Giving the two Peaky men a quick once-over he whispered pleadingly. “I can’t sell out my blood, not even his. Besides we don’t know where he is.” 

  
Arthur’s nostrils flared and he banged his fist down on the iron cart next to Tommy’s bed, shocking both men. 

  
“Bullshit and you know it!” His brother snapped agitated. “Your lot don’t know where Russo is? His own fucking family doesn’t know where he is? What do you take me for?” With a skillful swifty move he reached for his revolver, alerting the Italian. But instead of aiming at Vicente he took one bullet out and tost it at the Italian’s feet. 

  
“That’s one bullet, going through one meatball’s skull. I haven’t named it yet. You decide Changretta between who’s eyes it’s going to fit. Take it home, place it on your fucking mantelpiece. Look at it everytime you go to bed until you’ve decided who's name belongs on that bullet. You have one week. And don’t worry, you don’t have ta return it, we have plenty more.” 

  
“Senor Shelby, Arthur,” Vicente muttered, probably hoping their personal history might mellow the deadly promise, “we’ve known eachother since you where a young boy. My wife taught you and your brother’s their ABC’s-”

  
“- I’m well aware your family has done us good in the past,” Arthur cut in roughly, “and that’s the only reason we haven’t burned one of your businesses down. But this is the presence. And the fact is that right now my brother is in the fucking hospital because your blood nearly beat the life out of him. You have one week Changretta, to hand over Russo alive.  _ One week.” _

 

The last bit of color drained from Changretta’s face, flickering his gaze back and forth between the two Blinders, hoping for a shimmer of compassion. 

  
But the determinant stare of Arthur and Tommy’s one eyed scowl spoke volumes. The Italian wouldn’t be counting on any bit of mercy. 

  
“I promise you, we don’t know where he is,” Changretta pledged sincere. 

  
“Then stop wasting your valuable time and start searching for him.” Arthur advised him darkly, “one week, or we’ll use your family for target practise.” 

  
The death threat struck a nerve in the Italian. “Do that and we are at war.” 

  
“Wouldn’t be our first and we came back alive.” Arthur retorted. “One week.” 

  
An inwards conflict made Vicente Changretta clench his jaw, eyes shifting between the two Blinder devils. When no straw of pity lay in reach, the old Italian stood up and left without a word, leaving the two Blinders in silence, both lost in thoughts. 

  
Arthur leaning forward, elbows supporting on his knees. Hunched, he ran his hands through his slick hair and cleared his throat. 

  
“Fuck!” He cursed loudly and sank his hand into his pocket. Pulling a bunch of wrinkled pieces of paper out, Arthur reached for the pencil on the floor. Bluntly his brother pressed the pencil into Tommy’s left hand. 

 

“Write Tom. Anything,” Arthur’s word seemed like an order, but the way he glanced at Tommy made it clear it was a secret plea, “you’re my advisor. So  _ advise _ .” 

  
Glacing from his overwrought older brother down to the wrinkled pieces of paper Tommy twined his fingers firmly around the pencil. 

  
With great difficulty Tommy brought the charcoal down on paper and scribbled two almost illegible words.

 

_ Good job _ . 

  
Arthur’s eyes beamed with pride when he read the meaningful compliment. His tense bearing eased. Encourage by Tommy’s two worded note Arthur started to fill his brother in about all recent progress.

  
Last night Arthur and John had a meeting in the Chinese district, with the Red Dragon to seal their deal. Arthur had asked John to take Ai along, because he didn’t know shit about the Chinese culture.

  
“With my luck, I’d accidentally insulting their bloody ancestors and fuck the whole thing up.” Arthur muttered humored. 

  
The Red Dragon knew about Tommy’s whereabouts before Arthur had the chance to pardon on Tommy’s behalf. The Chinese kingpin even spoke himself, ordering Arthur to give Tommy his best wishes.  

  
_ Storage _ , Tommy scribbled down with chicken tracks. 

  
“Pol has that all covered up. I honestly think she enjoys being in charge of our  _ only _ semi-legal business.” Arthur sniggered. 

  
Previous to Tommy’s kidnapping Polly had managed to buy the small bakery Tommy had asked her to. Under a false name. It was located at the end of Bethram Road, close to the Chinese district and far-off from the police station. Polly had also hired a professional baker named Mr Thaddeus Wilkins. The poor old man had been fired from his previous job due to his sore back and inability to perform heavy lifting. The man had been thrilled and near tears when Polly gave him the job, promising that two youngsters would escort him to pick up the flour. All he had to do was sit at the wain while the boys loaded the wagon, and then transport it back to the bakery. Mister Wilkins had two more positive attributes, his eyesight was drastically deteriorating and his wife mentioned he was getting senile. He wouldn’t be getting in their way while baking sellibel bread. At the front door of their shop they’d be a believable bakery, while dealing cocaine underneath the counter. 

  
The two youngsters would be Blinders of course, handpicked by Polly herself. They’d be completely informed about their main business and know the full consequence if they’d utter a single word to the coppers. Those three would be operating the bakery and Polly would keep a sharp eye. Once the word was on the street they’d be needing more workers, but this was a good start. 

  
“Polly picked Scudboats kid and Jeremiah’s cousin,” Arthur informed Tommy, “good strong lads, like their fathers. With a good pair of brains.” 

  
All the pieces had fallen into place. Tommy felt a tremendous boost of vanity. A watery smile even dared to creep upon his face. 

  
That was all gratification Arthur needed. 

  
“Congratulations brother, as for today us Shelby’s have one semi-legal business. And as for today, the Peaky Blinders are the biggest cocaine dealers of Birmingham.” 

 

Arthur took out a small metal box originally used for snuff tobacco, but now filled with a white powdered content. 

  
“Wasn’t sure if it’s wise to bring this along, but the hell with it, you want a line Tom?” 

  
Oh and did he! Tommy was pretty certain it was against medical advice and hospital policy. But fuck that, a rush - _ any rush _ \- was more than welcome.  

  
Arthur prepared a line and reached forward to help Tommy snort the powder of the metal lid.    
The mixture of cocaine, morphine and the thrill of actually succeeding his master plan gave Tommy an intense euphoria. 

  
Arthur snorted a line and laughed, moral was back at its peak. 

  
Tommy’s fingers curled back around the pencil and he wrote:  _ Destroy Amico _ . 

  
Arthur read the message and knew Tommy was referring to a small Italian restaurant across The Shepherd. A theatrical move, since the word  _ Amico _ meant friend. But Tommy knew the Italians would be impressed by such dramatic statement. It would get them on their toes to say the least. An actual war was the last thing on Tommy’s agenda, but if they wouldn’t bend through their knees and give Russo up, death and destruction would be their only answer. And Vicente would know it. 

  
“You’re right Tom, we need those Meatballs to know we’re serious. If they want a war, they’ll be getting it. I’ll see to it.” 

  
Being patted on his good shoulder his brother got up. 

  
“I gotta get going, Tom. Don’t be a handful to those pretty nurses and get well fast. I’d love to show you our bakery. And our  _ dough _ of course.” Winking Arthur waved him off and Tommy caught himself saluting back with a sloppy grin plastered on his face. 

 

One month. He’d been out of the stables for a month. And in that time he’d managed to connect with the Chinese, gain enough wealth to buy a thousand kilo of cocaine and found a semi-legal way to export it. 

  
Of course, he’d also been beaten into a puddle of blood. And if Russo’s head wasn’t on a stick at the end of the week they would start a bloody war, striving on the wrath of the Italians. 

  
But every few steps forward would mean a possible setback. 

 

They’d simply do what they’ve always been doing. If some asshole downtrodden them, they’d get back up their feet. Brush their clothes off and shoot the fucker between the eyes.    

  
They were the Shelby’s. The fucking Peaky Blinders. And for every Italian that dared to cross them, they’d cut them a smile each. 

 

.-.-.

 

The cocaine infused morphine rush kept his personal nurse baffled at his heart rate. She’d even rushed in a doctor for a second opinion. It had been quite entertaining to see the hospital staff panic and fuss over his alerting pulse. 

  
What was less entertain where the following blood tests and them changing his fucking catheter. Which, may have been was a plus because he raised hell when the nurse wanted to catheterize him again. 

  
The nurse slammed the pottery down on his iron cart after he nearly punched her in the nose. Self absorbed he blew her a kiss.  _ Victory.  _ Little of his disheveled self esteem restored. At least he was able to take a piss like a human being again.  

  
The evening was a wee-bit of a hell, since he wasn’t on good terms with his nurse she ‘accidently’ forgot to give him a dose of morphine. But he choked through four hours of pain, biting the inside of his cheek, because there was no way in hell that he was going to plead for a fix. 

  
Nightstaff took over and shortly after midnight a new nurse came to his bedside. She noticed the beads of sweat on his forehead and grinding teeth. 

  
Somewhere half past midnight the pain was endurable enough to drift into sleep.

  
Waking up disoriented by time and place Tommy managed to reach for his chamberpot. Hurling up bile he took a mental note that cocaine, pain and morphine wasn’t the greatest combination in history. 

  
A new nurse emptied his chamberpot, wiped off his chin and offered him a fresh glass of water. After changing his IV she got him breakfast, which he decided to eat. Yesterday’s revelations stirred up his will to get out of the hospital. 

  
Munching on a piece of toast he carefully examined his face with the fingertips. The swelling seemed to lessen and he gained the use of his right eye as long as he squeezed it wide open.

  
His right hand, still completely unusable for fighting, writing or driving. But he could use his fingers without sending white hot jolts of pain to through his shoulder. Of course the morphine was a valuable asset to that. Still, the muscles in his right limb felt less tense, as long as he kept his arm relaxed inside the sling. 

  
Overall, he wasn’t in the worst state considering Russo’s torture. 

 

With his left hand he lifted his sheets and he crawled into a sitting position. Wearing nothing more than a hospital gown made a small shiver ran up his spin. 

  
Careful he swung one leg over the edge of the bed. Shifting in bed was painful, but possible and soon his other foot dangled next to the other. 

  
Now standing, that was going to be like Russian roulette. There was a small change that his feet where strong enough to carry his weight. But there was a much bigger change that his knees would buckle and he’d drop his bare ass next to the bed. 

  
Weighing out his two options he was surprised by his aunt Pol, Arthur and John marching in. Was it visiting hours? That would mean he’d slept for an awfully long time. But then again, he didn’t think his family would actually give a rats ass about hospital policy. 

  
“You’re up.” Polly stated.

  
‘Trying to,’Tommy gave her a sarcastic thumbs up halting his actions. If he was going to drop down his on his bloody ass he’d rather not do that in front of a crowd. Reluctant he scooped his legs back in bed and pulled the sheets up to his belly. 

  
“Arthur ordered four of our men to burn down one of Vicente’s restaurants!”

 

“Burned it to the ground Tom,” Arthur informed him proud.   
  


If looks could kill… Polly quickly continued, nostrils flaring up and eyes turning dark, “what the bloody hell Thomas? Vicente came to you to ensure you he had nothing to do with Russo. I believe him, Tom.”

  
“Doesn’t matter Polly, that’s what I’ve told you at the house,” Arthur grunted, “it’s not about good faith. It’s about sending a message.” 

  
Polly’s eyes narrowed and drilled into Tommy’s. “You honestly want to start a vendetta over one man?”

  
Tommy stoically stared back and slowly nodded his head. It wasn't about  _ one man.  _ As Arthur mentioned, it’s about sending a message. And this one was quite clear:  _ Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders _ . And if their message wouldn’t strike enough fear, then yes. An eye for an eye. War. 

  
“Why can’t we simply focus on finding Russo?” Polly exclaimed. “He’s the root of our evil, not Vicente Changretta and his family.” 

  
“Russo  _ is _ his fucking family!” John retorted back. “Tom and Arthur are right Pol. This is no time to cut those meatballs any slack. We’ll burn down every one of ‘em pubs, restaurants and shops until that cockroach crawls out.” 

  
Polly wanted to respond to John, but Maria turned cautiously around the corner, being Polly new aim.

  
“Didn’t I specifically tell you to stay at the reception until we’re done?!” The older lady snapped at the girl. 

  
“I think I know where Russo is,” Maria blurted, silencing everyone in the room, “it’s rather shocking how easily people forget you’re there if you’re spending hours and hours reading at a reception,” she mentioned casual, “I overheard two nurses gossiping to each other, about an Italian being hospitalised at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital.”

  
“And how are you so sure they were talking about Russo?” Polly rebuked, raising an eyebrow. 

  
“Well, how many fat selfabsorved Italians do you know who are hospitalized due to their cock nearly cut off?” Maria responded with a strange mixture of shame and pride. 

  
John and Arthur exchanzed alerted gazes and Polly gasped for air. Queen Elizabeth Hospital was about four miles away from Birmingham’s General hospital and if you rushed you’d be there in approximately fifteen minutes. 

  
Tommy’s two brother’s morphed into bloodhounds, fuming and ready for blood, now that there was a possible location of their prey. Polly noticed the bloodlust in her nephews eyes and took the role of the huntress, leashing her bloodhounds before they could storm into something considerable foolish. 

  
“Wait, we need to think this through!” She commanded, halting two men at the door. 

  
“We can think in the fucking car!” Arthur barked back, “we’re not letting him get away!” 

  
Polly stared agitated at the two disappearing backs of John’s and Arthur’s. Momentarily she seemed uncertain about staying with Tommy or joining her two nephews. She settled with the last, probably worried for another meeting with another director in case Arthur found it necessary to pull his gun on a nurse again. Or having either John and Arthur to commit a execution in plain sight. 

  
“You stay here!” She ordered Maria, pointing at the girl as if she was to blame for it, “and I hope for your sake there is a sign of Russo at Elizabeth’s!” 

 

A little edgy Maria plopped down on one of the seats near Tommy’s bed. 

  
“I hope there isn’t another circumcised fat selfabsorved Italian in Elizabeth,” Maria muttered more to herself then to Tommy, knowing Polly’s wrath would not to be taken lightly if it turned out she’d be wrong. 

  
Tommy passively been taking in all the action and turmoil around him. Clearly he didn’t have a saying over the matter. No-one even bothered to ask him what to do with Maria’s possible clue and it bothered him, more than he was able to express. It started to eat him up, he wasn’t able to communicate in a degree that people took him serious. Sure Arthur had been at his side, asking for guidance. But in the moment of heath and action his brothers had failed to consider him. And it wasn’t like he could do much about it. 

  
“Doctor Rivers, I wake up every morning wishing I didn’t,” Maria whispered frail and bow her head ashamed as Tommy’s head snapped to her side. 

  
Unable to look him in the eyes, Maria took out Tommy’s old notebook and placed it purposefully on Tommy’s nightstand. 

  
“I’ve considered eating a bullet more times then I can count,” Maria quoted by memory. 

  
Tommy’s mouth fell slightly ajar and he froze on the bed.  _ She’d read his notes _ , he realised horrified.

  
“I’ve burned those two pages,” Maria managed to say. Was that a simple statement or a silent promise to keep his suicidal thoughts a secret? 

  
Maria’s nervous tick started to play up, the girl was fumbling her sleeves, biting her busted lower lip. If she’d get going at it, she’d split it right back open. 

 

Watching her in broad daylight, his speaker seemed different. Changed, but he couldn’t put his finger on the specific difference. The henna of her short hair had been washed out, leaving her with a dull copper tint. The cut in her forehead and upper lip stood out to her pale complexion, a painful reminder of Tommy’s shortcomings. He should have been able to protect her, he’d given her his word after all.  _ I will try to keep your fragile Catholic soul away from the worst bits that come with the job.  _

  
Instead of doing what he’d promised he’d dragged her along through hell. And maybe that was it. The minimal yet noticeable change in her bearing, the constant alertness in her blue doo-eyes. It wasn’t one single aspect of change, it was every little detail. 

  
Russo’s grudge had taken its toll on her, in more ways than just her physical injuries. Watching one men torture another, it created tiny hair cracks in her soul. Being forced down on her knees as a whore, brought out another part of neither herself nor Tommy thought she’d possess. 

  
She’d drawn blood and from what Tommy had been able to see, she’d cut the bastard good. 

 

And now she had to learn to live with that part of herself, along with the solid realisation of what a human could do to another human. Tommy knew she’d seen bits and piece of his torment and he knew what he’d sounded like. It hadn’t been pretty to watch, if he’d been in her place he’d would have tried to look away too, disgusted by the sick game Russo loved to play. 

 

But he’d been at war, he’d seen worse. Much worse. And he was a man. He’d been a survivor, from the moment he could remember.

 

She came from a completely other world. One he envied, deep down inside. She had a decent upbringing, parental restrictions, safety and love. 

  
Most of which she’d already lost the moment she’d buried her father and brother. Then her childhood house turned into ashes, followed by a disastrous new home in Small Heath, with family that didn’t want her. Yes, any kind of hope for her future had desecrated the moment she sat foot in Birmingham. 

  
But up upon their shared dread in Russo’s basement Maria managed to see the good in people. She’d even managed to see some good in him. Even after everything he’d done to her. 

  
That was what had changed. She now knew, from first hand experience what life as a Blinder ment. He’d succeeded to corrupt her, which he’d been planning to do since he decided he was going to use her as his personal speaker. 

 

Was it regret he felt in the pit of his stomach? Regret of tagging her along on his path? Leading the life of a cutthroat gangster had been inevitable for him, with a father like his and, well that was it, being violent and wicked was in his genes. 

  
_ You have your mother’s common sense and your father’s devilment _ , it was what Polly use to tell him. What she’d still tell him every once in a while, if he was taking things to far. It was Polly’s way of warning him to take a step back, reminding him how much alike his father he could be if he’d undeliberately would push himself to it. 

 

At times it was just easier to be cold and callous. It where his angel and demon, always fighting on his shoulders. His soft side, the part of him that sollomly lived to protect and care, would always demolish under his father’s ferocious upbringing. His father literally beat it in to be selfish and remorseless. It was a constant battle inside his head, but the outcome was always the same, a blend of both the angel as the devil; keep his kin safe against all cost. 

 

So, where did that place her then? 

 

Was she something he considered as a mere asset to his goal? Could he live with himself if he’d plainly use her? To everyone around him he’d kept up that act. He’d beaten her uncle senseless to score points, stolen her back from Russo, all because she happened to be his voice. He’d arranged a roof over head, to make sure she’d been cooperative. It was easy to note those for his reasoning. 

  
But didn’t he fail to fall asleep when he noticed she’d locked the door on him? Hadn’t he been dead-set bringing her family back to Watery Lane in one piece? It wasn’t just to seal the deal, it had to do with restoring some balance between the both of them. He needed her to know there was some good left inside of him, not for the sake of her cooperation, but for his sake. 

  
She mattered, Tommy wasn’t sure unto what extent, but she  _ mattered _ . To him. And that realisation left him on edge, because he wasn’t sure what to make of it, or what to do with it. 

She mattered, because when she’d pulled the gun on herself in the basement, he’d been fully aware she’d done it to save him. 

  
Oddly enough that made him feel worse, because she was holy Mary, the fragile, gullible girl that had been thrown into his lap. She’d done everything in her power to save him, while he’d done everything in his power to damage himself. 

 

For months he’d manage to stay in a constant intoxicated state, with a clear death wise in the back of his mind. He would never blow his brains out, but if he’d got so drunk and died, well that would have been a convenient way out. That would leave his family devastated, but wouldn’t burden them with the shame of his suicide. It would be an accident, a very convenient accident. 

  
“I know you don’t believe in God, Tommy,” Maria carefully continued, “and therefore don’t believe in heaven nor hell. But I do. And I don’t want you to go to hell.” 

  
Tommy understood the deeper meaning behind her words. Taking your own life didn’t go well with the Lord Almighty and would cast him far away from heaven and all eternity. 

 

_ She didn’t want him to go to hell _ , valualling her words he suddenly wondered what he was to  _ her _ . 

  
As the thought crossed his mind he immediately tangled it, muted it and forced it into the farest corner of his head. He shouldn’t linger on a possible  _ maybe _ or  _ what if _ , hope was the worst pain. It was easier to simply shut everything and everyone out, it was painful too, but bearable.

 

There was just things that simply weren’t accesebble for him anymore and in spite of his heartache he needed to learn to coop with that.  

  
It was bearable if everything stayed just the way things where, it was easier, endurable and tolerable. He was out of the stables and back with his kin, he’d remain Arthur’s adviser and have a loyal voice. And that was all that mattered, those were the few things he needed to maintain. 

 

Be an asset to his family and not lose his fucking mind. Two things, that wasn’t much. That should be doable, even for a crippled like him. 

  
He eyed back at here, scanning her face for any possible hints of her thoughts. Her emotions where clear, Polly scared her, Russo fucking scarred her and she wasn’t lying about the fact that she didn’t want him to commit suicide. Her reasoning behind that though, remained a question, one he rather not ask. 

  
“I got you something else, please do not tell Polly,” Maria pressed urgently as by a miracle she took out a package of cigarettes, “there John’s I think. I didn’t ask, so,” uncomfortably she scrunched her nose and flipped the box open, “don’t tell him either.”

  
Unskilled she placed a cigarette between her lips and fiddled to lit a match. Smoke drifted from her nostrils as she lit the cigarette. Careful and overly gentle she took the cigarette from her lips and place it between Tommy’s. Blowing out the match she nudged both the packages underneath his pillow. 

  
“There’s only four left, just so you know.” She informed him in secret. 

  
Tommy was taken off guard to say the least, letting the cigarette balance between his lips. Trying to remember when he’d smoked his last cigarette he inhaled deep, thankful for her offer. 

  
So besides a lair, a cheat he’d also turned her into a thief, her father must be turning in his grave. Deprived from nicotine Tommy sucked passionately on his cigarette until he felt a little light headed. 

  
Maria sat aside him, strangely content with him puffing and sighing. 

 

_ T-a-l-k _ , Tommy signed with stiffened fingers.

  
It caught her off guard, she’d been stuck in her own trainwreck of thoughts. Her lips fell slightly ajar, giving the impression of a child being caught in the act. 

  
“About what?” She asked, eyes fluttering everywhere. 

  
_ A-n-y-t-h-i-n-g _ , he signed back. The pain started to coach itself back through his system as his morphine level started to wear down. It would take about an hour until his next fix so he could really use some distraction. 

  
“Happy or sad?”

  
_ H-a-p-p-y,  _ he choose. In his state he honestly could use a little bit of happiness. 

  
Maria puckered her lips, brows frowning thoughtfully. A genuine smile filled up her face, a humored glance flickering in her eyes.

  
“I once pushed my brother into a beehive,” she confessed, “It was on accident, we didn’t know what it was. I lost my balance and David, well he ended up face first in the hive. We had to run across two acres to get rid of all the bees. You should have seen his face!” Reliving the memory Maria sniggered and set back on her seat, feet swinging as another memory bubbled up. 

  
“Me and David once made May piss herself. We made up a tale about our scarecrow, that it came to live at night. After dinner David hid underneath their bunkbed wearing rags and a hollowed out pumpkin over his head. May  _ literally _ pissed herself when David crawled up from under her bed, the twins screamed so loud dad rushed up with a hammer,” Maria giggled while swinging with her legs, “David got backhanded and I had to wash out all the clothes and linen. It was worth it though. That was probably the worst thing I’ve ever done, back then,” she added saddened. Her eyes lost their lively spark momentary, but she must have sensed his need for any kind of cheerfulness and so she continued.

  
“We used to have pet pig, named Gilbert. I must have mentioned him before. He was the scraniest of scraniest and the youngest. Dad didn’t think he’d make it, but the four of us were dead set on keeping him alive. And he lived, like a king in France, we fed him every little crumb we could miss. When Christmas came around dad wanted to slaughter him. We used to have lots of friends and family over during Christmas and Gilbert would be the perfect centerpiece. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much for an animal, David threatened to run away and the twins held their breath until April fainted.” She grinned content. 

 

“We ate pheasants that year, dad shot them himself and Gilbert was granted absolution. It was my first Christmas miracle I think.”

  
Tommy took it all in with a blank face. The adoration of the young woman towards her past and family was beautiful to see, yet bittersweet. If she’d had the choice she’d rather live in the past, that much was clear. She used to live a unworldly, simple life which she’d been more then content with. 

 

And now she sat here happily reminiscing over her youth. With a busted lip and a large cut on her forehead, contently watching her beat up employer illegally smoking a cigarette. If someone would have told her this was her future, she must have laughed and called them silly. 

 

_ Silly _ , Tommy snorred, the tip of his lip turning up into a asymmetrical grin,  _ silly _ , yes that would be her pick of word. 

 

His words would have been  _ fucking nuts _ , if someone would have told him he’d be grinning at a working class lass, with a busted lip and a cut across her forehead, while laying in a hospital bed.  _ Fucking nuts,  _ if someone would have told him he’d be willingly to sacrifice his life over a gorge girl with no direct value.  _ Fucking nuts _ , to enjoy her  _ silly _ collection of happy memories while sucking on a stolen cigarette, with a face the devil wouldn’t even spit on. 

 

.-.-.

 

 

**About the chapter. I like how Arthur and Tommy teamed up during their meeting with Vincente. The next part of the chapter really took a whole other turn then I first intended. But it wrote itself and when I read through it again I didn’t want to change any of it. I think it was about time for Tommy to have some thought about his speaker and get a little personal. I like that he doesn’t want to open himself up for any possibility, he can’t even think of letting someone in. His self loathing towards his handicap is more severe then I intended to do, but it’s working rather well.**

 

**And Maria, I hope her character development is believable. I really like her, she’s so out of place in this world, torn between her upbringing and Tommy’s way of life.**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

  
  
  
  
  



	29. Repentance from the enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’ve had a present delivered to us this morning,” Arthur started, fingers clenched around a shoebox-sized package, decorated with the remains of red wrapping paper. 
> 
> “Ai, brought it,” John said as if that explained everything, “she said it’s from the Red Dragon.”

 

 

.-.-.

 

Polly felt empty, numb. That could of course be the questionably high amount of bourbon she’d poured down her throat. Their family had one shared heritage; using alcohol as a coping mechanism. It wasn’t good, correct. But it could be worse; they’d never been the picture perfect family anyways. 

  
Twirling her glass, lonely at their deserted dinner table, she tried to pinpoint the exact moment that she had lost control. 

  
At first, she thought it was the moment those four gorgers set foot on her doorstep; she’d been forced to let them in, in spite of her gut feeling. 

 

But now that she had started to think, actually  _ think _ about it, she’d lost control long before. 

  
It wasn’t the moment that working class wench slithered her way inside, wrapped in harlots clothes and Tommy’s jacket. 

  
No, Polly lost control over her nephew long before that and after contemplating about it for about half a bottle of Bourbon, she pinpointed it down. 

  
She lost control over Tommy the moment she hired the lass. Maybe control wasn’t the right word, because  _ no-one _ could dominate Tommy, he couldn’t be tempered. 

  
No, what she lost was his trust and she couldn’t understand why. She honestly couldn’t think of a moment where she’d done anything that could have damaged their bond. They used to be close; well as close as anyone could get with Tommy. But that was before the war, which seemed like an eternity ago. She still missed his deep gruff voice and the way he could laugh, actually laugh, out of joy. She hadn’t just been his counselor, he’d been hers too. Arthur and John, both wonderful men, didn’t have the brain and insight Tommy had. Arthur might be the oldest, but Tommy had always been the leader. He never claimed the title, but everybody knew. Tommy had been the rock, the backbone of their family. Even as a small boy he’d been the mediator, the shoulder to cry one, the one making hard decisions to make sure they’d kept a roof over their heads.   

  
Was she jealous of the lass? She’d been wondering about that too, because the huge amount of resentment towards that girl was excessive. In all fairness, Maria had done her job well. She’d been able to get him out of the stables, took on the role of Tommy’s speaker with grace and hadn’t done anything to jeopardize their business. 

  
So was it jealousy she was feeling? When Tommy regained conscious in the hospital his first question had been about her, the girl, while he’d done his absolute best to shut every one of his kin out. If Polly was completely honest with herself it hurt, like a knife shoved in her back.

  
Thinking about it made Polly empty another glass,  _ men with their cocks _ , she thought and refilled her glass. 

  
“You’re still up?” Ada piped in surprised as she tottered into the kitchen, yawning and overly exaggerated in stretching her arms. 

  
“You’re actually awake?” Polly asked, almost as surprised. Ada never was a morning person and the sun hadn’t even started to come up.  

“Thanks to those two brats,” Ada snapped agitated, flopping down on the chair facing Polly, “they wake up every bloody night crying, nightmares I guess.” Her tone grew a little more compassionate, recalling how she used to wake up crying after her mother died. 

 

“How much have you been drinking Pol?” Ada questioned, taking the bottle and examining the content, “all of it?” 

  
There was no way of denying it, so Polly simply didn’t answer. Instead, she bitterly took another swig of wine. 

  
“God, everyone’s losing their head these days,” Ada pouted, rolling her eyes and staring up at the ceiling, “is it because you didn’t find that Italian at the hospital?”

  
“That’s part of it,” Polly shared with dread. 

  
When the three of them reached Queen Elizabeth’s John and Arthur had planned to waltz inside the hospital with their guns raised high. Luckily Polly, the most diplomatic of the three, was able to have them lower their guns and went straight to the director. 

  
Money can buy you anything, even privacy; and a room number. 

  
But when they reached the room, it had been empty. Staff had been as shocked as the three Blinders. They found that as the nurses were checking their papers, Russo had already been given his medication less than an hour beforehand.  

  
The fat Italian vanished into thin air. Polly pressed for another background check, to see who’d been visiting him. But it turned out that Russo hadn’t had any visitors according to the hospital’s records. He hadn’t been at the hospital for long, and had only checked in that morning due to severe loss of blood and an infection on his scrotum. 

  
One hour, they could have prevented a war if they’d been at the hospital one hour sooner. They’d been so close, but cleary not close enough. 

 

This was the reason John and Arthur were getting piss drunk at the Garrison. 

  
Ada didn’t know the full extent of Polly’s sour mood, but knew better than to ask questions. Instead she reached into the back of the kitchen drawer and took out a bar of chocolate.

  
“You look like you could use some sweetness,” Ada commented, breaking off a chunk. 

 

‘We could all use some sweetness’, Polly thought, receiving the chocolate and staring back at the kind eyes of her niece. 

 

“I need you to spy on Tommy’s speaker again,” Polly informed her. 

  
Ada didn’t seemed too pleased, picking on the paper wrappings of the candy. “Why? She honestly isn’t that interesting and definitely not a threat. Besides, she’s not really an open book. She refused to tell me anything about all the stuff that’s been going on; which I don’t know shit about.” Ada complained as she gave an accusing glare to her aunt.   

  
“Fine, you want to know what’s going on?” Polly snapped, watching Ada nod frantically, “Tommy fucked up with the Italian, Russo. He shouldn’t have won the Shepherd and that’s why he’s in the hospital. Because Russo beat the living shit out of him, planned to kill him and throw him in the bloody cut. But he escaped thanks to our little holy Mary, who he’s placed on a bloody pedestal while he’s starting a fucking war with the Italians. And that’s why Russo needs to be found and executed. Else a whole lot of innocent people will be caught in the crossfire, all because your brother got too cocky. All because he stole back that girl, which he shouldn’t have done in the first place. So don’t tell me she’s not a threat, because she’s the reason we are in this mess!” 

  
Ada blinked once, twice and a third time before a soft  _ oh _ escaped her lips. 

  
“As I’ve told you many times before Ada, men become complete and utter fools once they’re thinking with their cocks. Your brother isn’t any better,” Polly huffed frustrated, “and that’s why I want you to become her best friend, her role model, she needs to look up to you so she’ll let you in.” 

  
“Alright, all for the family, I guess,” Ada muttered, reluctant to completer her new task, “wouldn’t it be easier to get rid of her?” 

  
“Oh we’re past that,” Polly replied coldly, “that might be a possibility eventually, but if she disappears right now, I’m afraid of what Tommy will do.” It was the honest truth, she knew for sure that her nephew would retreat right back to the stables the moment he’d be able to walk out of the hospital. When she had picked Maria out of the crowd, she thought she’d be able to control the grey mouse. But now that she couldn’t do that, maybe Ada would be able too, which was a good second best. This solution had too many middlemen, or middle women so to speak, but it would give Polly some power back over Tommy. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but right now it was her last resort. 

 

.-.-.

 

His family grew the annoying habit of being at his bedside all fucking day. Yesterday they had been the bringers of bad news. Apparently, Russo dodge another bullet and could be fucking anywhere. Vicente only had two more days and since there hadn’t been a single name on Russo’s list of visitors, Tommy feared Vicente had been honest when he told them he didn’t know Russo’s whereabouts. 

 

It looked as if in two days, the Blinders were going to be forced to start a war, which would lead into a Vendetta, which would lead towards a lot of unnecessary deaths. His family would have innocent blood on their hands. No, their future didn’t look pretty, even with the Lee boys as allies; the Italians were a heinous opponent. Their population in Small Heath wasn’t large, but once the word spreads, their kin would come up from under stones like cockroaches, ready to avenge their family.

  
On top of that, aunt Pol was bitching to the nurses and meddling in every possible way she could. She wanted to know when a doctor would be seeing him, if his medication might have some long term side-effects, due to his previous head trauma. Christ, she even handed him his chamber pot when he informed her he needed to take a piss. 

  
He then made it very clear to her that she wasn’t his fucking mother and that he’d been taking care of himself since he could remember, thank you very much. 

 

Well, maybe he didn’t use those exact words, but giving her the middle finger and pointing at the door was enough for him to get some privacy.  

  
Giving walking another try, he placed the chamber pot below his bed and carefully removed his legs from under the sheets. His knees were bruised and busted from the collision with the basement floor and there were a few cuts on his ankles, probably from branches of the forest. 

  
The tips of his toes connected with the cold hospital floor. Taking a few deep breaths, he edged forwards until the soles of his feet where steady.

  
Before he had the chance to raise himself up John marched in without knocking as his shadows, Arthur and Polly followed closely behind. 

 

Subconsciously, Tommy pulled on the hem of his hospital gown and he leaned a little forward. Wearing nothing more than a hospital gown made him feel fragile and vulnerable. 

 

There was something going on between his visitors, a tense atmosphere filled the room. 

 

“We’ve had a present delivered to us this morning,” Arthur started, fingers clenched around a shoebox-sized package, decorated with the remains of red wrapping paper. 

  
“Ai, brought it,” John said as if that explained everything, “she said it’s from the Red Dragon.” 

 

Tommy didn’t know what to think, was the Chinese kingpin getting second thoughts about their deal? By the disgusted looks from his family, it wasn’t a good present. 

  
“He left a letter for you as well,” Arthur continued, opening his hand and showing an envelope matching the colour of the wrapping paper. The seal had been torn off. 

 

‘So much for privacy,’ Tommy thought sarcastically and took the letter from his brother. 

 

The letter itself didn’t reveal anything as Tommy’s eyes scanned over the words:

_ Consider this repentance from your enemy and devotion from your ally.  _

_   
_ Confused, Tommy lowered the letter and exchanged looks with Arthur as he was handed the package. The content of the box left all attendees speechless. Inside the cardboard box lay a dismembered, mangled…

  
“They chopped off his cock,” Arthur grunted with disgust, “your lass confirmed it, it’s his.”

  
“They sent Russo’s head to his family, nicely wrapped with a card attached,” Polly added with a whisper, “Tommy this isn’t just their way to show you how loyal they are. They are showing us what they are capable of.” 

  
“Don’t fuck with the Chinese,” John muttered uneasy, which would have earned him a laugh in under different circumstances, “ _ Fuck _ , how did they know where to find ‘im in the first place? How did that chink even know you were in the hospital?” 

  
“Tom, did you do any background check, or any research before you pushed forward to make a deal with the Red Dragon?” Polly asked anxious, “well?” 

  
Tommy tried very hard to dodge Polly scrutinizing gaze and quickly closed the box, pushing it far away.  _ Fuck _ , what did he exactly know about the Red Dragon? Not much more than rumours, shortly before their first meeting he wasn’t even sure the man existed. And when he laid his eyes upon the gauntly old man, he hadn’t classified him as a threat; more as a pawn. A possible pushover if he planned to expand. He’d even thought about taking over a large part of the Chinese market once his new cocaine empire took form. It would be easier to cut out the middleman and buy straight from the source. 

  
Russo’s endgame was, as Polly said, a statement of the Chinese. A very powerful one. 

  
_ Fuck, _ he needed a moment to let it all sink in; he raced through the events and details. The good thing that came out of this was that they didn’t need to start a war with the Italians. They wouldn’t be foolish enough to fight them now. The Blinders had the Lee’s and apparently the Chinese on their side, so a very clear upper hand. 

  
The Red Dragon made it clear he was devoted enough to reach out to them. Even if it was just to make a bold bloody statement, the Chinese had wiped out Tommy’s torturer. 

  
Tommy nudged towards his notebook and started scribbling down words as soon as his fingers twined around the pencil.

  
_ We proceed _ , he wrote with his left hand, showing the note to everyone in the room;  _ send a card to the Red Dragon with our gratitude.  _ He directed his next point to Polly and wrote:  _ we need to shake up our export, ask the Lee’s if they would like to make a deal, I bet they are more than willing now that they have the Wolfhampsfort.  _

_   
_ The Lee’s would be a good way to export cocaine into the rest of the country. With their travelling fair, they’d be able to sell to different customers daily. By the time the coppers got suspicious they’d be in the next city or town. And if they would be caught, well there was no possible way that a tiny bakery in the slums of Small Heath could be held accountable. 

  
This could work, this needed to work. Tommy stared at his brother’s. Arthur seemed to need some kind of reassurance that Tommy couldn’t give. And John was still completely focused on the wrapped cardboard box resting at the end of his bed. 

  
Polly, he was hesitant to stare up at her. When he did, he received the scolding  _ I told you so _ glare, combined with her tight lipped  _ no nonsense  _ expression. She absolutely hated his change of business plan in the first place. Him being hospitalized because of Russo’s grudge had been a good example for her to know she’d been in the right. This gift from the Chinese was the cherry on top. 

But there was no way back, they had sold their best profit to the Lee’s, there was more cocaine then flour stored in their humble bakery, and if they pussied out now, the Chinese would never settle a deal with them. If they’d pull the plug now, they’d be back to square one. 

  
He was done being a pickpocketer, a hustler and a robber. Sure, his brothers would be able to start over, but he certainly couldn’t, not with his handicap. 

  
He froze on his bed and a dark thought gnawed at his mind, he still hadn’t told his family. 

 

He should, at some point. Eventually. 

  
It would be very nice if his family would jump into action and not stare at him as if he’d lost his bloody sanity. As he watched their faces, his mind drifted towards his hidden stash of cigarettes underneath his pillow. He was going to smoke the moment they left the room. Maybe he could bribe Maria into sneaking in some alcohol too, that wouldn’t be too much to ask now would it? 

  
“John, Arthur, could you leave us for a moment?” Polly asked in somewhat of a kind matter; though she was probably holding back on all her venom and curses that she will throw at him. 

 

But at least two of the three intruders left the room and one of them even took Russo’s box along.

 

This however left him with the incarnation of Hades.

Tommy expected his aunt to do a variety of things. His bets were on being slapped in the face, although on second thoughts, that would be a little low, he’d still had the face of the hunchback of Notre Dame. His second guess had been curses, possible death threats and a long list of accusations. 

 

But what Polly did was even worse; she looked at him with huge tired eyes that startled him.

  
“Thomas, are you alright?” she asked him softly, sitting beside him on the bed and placing her hand on the crook of his neck. 

 

Her comforting demeanor and closeness was more intimidating than any hurtful rant. For a moment he allowed himself to be a kid again and receive the closeness she was offering. He’d never been much of a talker and this had been their way of communicating. She would offer him the comfort that neither of his parents were ever able or cared to provide. 

  
God, he was tired. He was always tired, but he kept on going anyway. 

  
Attentively, he took hold of Polly’s hand that was touching his neck and place it in between them. There was no way of having a conversation if she treated him like a child. That’s how she could make him feel, like a stupid little boy who took on too much. 

  
“I’ll be sending our guests home,” Polly informed him pragmatically, aware he’d pulled his walls back up. 

 

_ Our guests _ , it took Tommy a moment to realise who Polly meant. Of course, Maria, her sisters and her mum were still in their home at Watery Lane. He felt strangely reluctant for them to leave, for some reason it had been comforting to know they’d been safe and sound, sleeping in his bedroom. But for the sake of throwing that in as an argument, he simply nodded his head in defeat. They needed to go, that would clear up the tension he knew was present at their house. 

 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Polly spoke blandly and Tommy honestly couldn’t tell what she meant. He figured it was business related but when he looked at her face, he noticed her dark solemn eyes that told him she meant something else entirely.   

 

In this state, Tommy didn’t want to man up and ask his aunt to explain herself. She’d asked him once before what Maria meant to him. At that moment he’d been humoured about her question up until she started to over analyze and blow everything out of proportion, only knowing half the facts. He’d been offended that she thought he’d been jealous of Russo claiming his speaker as a working girl. It hadn’t been purely jealousy that made him snatch Maria out of the claws of the Italian. Sure he’d been overly possessive, high and drunk when he did so, but mainly because it had been the right thing to do. 

  
Then she mentioned that all it took for him to turn into a bloody idiot was one girl spreading her legs. And in that case, he could simply find relief at a brothel. That had been so far below the belt. As if that was what it was all about, sex. As if that was all he craved for from the opposite sex, a quick relief. She’d accuse him of having feelings for Maria and if so, to lock it all up and fuck some whore instead. 

 

As if it was that simple. 

  
Tommy chewed on his bottom lip and stared at his bruised and scraped knees. He wanted his aunt to leave. 

  
She must have sensed his complete shut down and didn’t press the matter any further. 

  
“I’ll be on my way, is there anything I can do for you?”

  
Tommy shook his head relieved. Then something suddenly popped up, he scribbled down a short message and tore the page off.

  
Polly took it, read it and frowned: “You’re sure, didn’t you just sell-” 

  
Tommy raised his hand up and motioned back on the paper, tapping his index finger against it urgently. 

  
“Men changeable as the weather,” his aunt scolded, “but I’ll see what I can do.” 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: So, Polly is jealous, I felt the need to do a little explaining for her. I think Polly will kill herself before she’d do any harm to her family, but she has her own ways of taking care of them. I think she’s overprotective towards Tommy and still doesn’t see him as a whole man.**

 

**So, I guess Russo’s out of the way, in pieces. The Chinese, what a lovely bunch hah?  
  
**

**For the readers who aren’t into slow-burns and are tearing their hair out of their heads, fear not sparks and more are in the near future!**

 

**Also, I’m curious if you can guess what Tommy wants Polly to do, let’s see if you can guess it right.**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

  
  
  
  
  



	30. Thinking outside the box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eerste Schinkelstraat 30, Amsterdam.

 

 

.-.-.

 

Maria would have been lying if she said she didn’t miss being back at the stables. Ever since she failed to lead the Blinders towards capturing Russo, she’d been banned from the hospital. Although not directly, she’d simply been barked at by Polly to go help out in the stables since she was useless in Birmingham General. Apparently, Tommy didn’t need a speaker there anymore and although she highly questioned that, she was more than happy to work with the horses again. 

  
She’d only met Curly, her replacement, this morning but already she grew particularly fond of the babbling broad and bold fellow. She even dared to say that he knew more about horses then her brother and Tommy combined. 

  
She also enjoyed listening to Charlie’s folk stories about his ancestors. 

  
She’d even missed his special hog stew. 

  
For a whole week, her life seemed to be at ease; at least during the daytime. At night, she hardly slept, afraid to close her eyes. Since Russo’s surprising and horrific murder, she and her mum and sisters were sent back to their own apartment. Her siblings and mother had been relieved to be back at home, but Maria’s constant state of stress only grew. As strange as it seemed, the lack of guns and men able to use those firearms made it impossible for her to be fully at ease. Due to that and the nightmares combined, she hardly got any beauty sleep. 

  
During her lunch break, she allowed herself to nod off under the sun, resting against the box of bourbon. The background sounds of the horses and scent of hay kept her in the present and made it possible to doze off a little. 

  
Her mum acted as if she had found her long lost daughter, now that she came home every afternoon smelling like horses, sweat and dust. They didn’t exchange a word about it, but Maria knew her mum was glad that she at least acted like her old self again. And to keep her mum from worrying, she happily played the role of the carefree, yet responsible, sister. 

 

Her sisters were jealous of her for spending so much time on a ‘farm’ while they were forced to suffer in a classroom. To make up for that, she took the twins to the stables on a Saturday morning, introduced them to Curly and Charlie and let them brush the horses. It had felt like home, her real home and it struck her when she realized how much she missed her village. 

  
It struck her even more when she realized she missed being at the hospital; the thought crossed her mind while she was sweeping Rockefeller's stable. She stopped for a moment, placed the broom against the wooded side of the box and wiped her forehead. 

  
Curly sensed her halt, he paused his ongoing babbling about which saddle caused the horse less stress and instead piped up in that she should get some fresh air for a moment. 

  
Appreciative of Curly’s kindness, she thanked him and walked over to the dock. There were no new ships to be supplied with cargo -which meant no prying eyes of the sailors- so she felt at ease enough to swing her legs over the edge of the pier and stare out over the cut. 

  
This was where it all began. She remembered the way she had to drag herself to Charlie’s yard. Back then Small Heath scared her, it still did, but on another level. Maybe it was because she’d grown a little more confident and had gotten a little more street smart. And perhaps the fact that she belonged to the Peaky Blinders, made it a lot easier to keep her head up. 

  
Maybe that was it. 

 

She now belonged somewhere. It wasn’t the place she’d pictured herself to be and it certainly wasn’t with the right kind of people. But still, she belonged somewhere. She  _ mattered _ and that gave her enough power to support and protect her mum and sisters. 

 

She’d changed, she didn’t think the Maria that came here the first day, would recognize her, inside and out. 

  
Since she started working for the Peaky Blinders she didn’t pray as much as she used to do. She hadn’t been  _ thankful _ for the house and hostility her uncle and aunt provided. She hadn’t been  _ thankful _ for their lousy meals and hateful comments. 

  
She certainly hadn’t been  _ thankful _ for her new place in the world; being a working-class voiceless little git. 

  
And for everything that happened in the event of getting the job of Tommy’s stable lass, well, she’d worked for that herself.  _ Hard _ . She’d learned to adapt to the cold and callous road her life pushed her upon and shaped her. 

 

She’d changed, she needed too but she didn’t like it. She wasn’t thankful for her transformation; as her confidence grew her ideals seemed to decrease.

 

That’s why she’d become reluctant to pray. What was the use? Everything good had been swept away and everything good that came after was because of herself. Of the fact that she knew sign language, kept all their dirty little secrets and did what she’d been ordered too. 

  
Silently she threw a few rocks into the cut and wondered when her perfect little bubble would burst. It wouldn’t take long before Tommy was fit enough to leave the hospital and when he did he’d need her back at his side. 

  
She would miss her stable job, the horses, Charlie, Curly. She’d miss this mediocre life she always dreamed of. She didn’t look down on the hard and simple labor but knew it wasn’t in her future, not anymore. 

  
What was her future? It was a question she didn’t dare to think about. She’d be Tommy’s speaker, placing herself in possible lines of fire. After Russo’s ordeal, she was aware such awful things would remain part of her life. The brutality of men wouldn’t necessarily be inflicted upon her; Tommy would make sure of that. But she’d witness more violence, pain, extortion and possible deaths. She wasn’t naive, not anymore. She knew what Tommy was capable of, she’d seen it first-hand. He’d been at war, he’d murdered others. He didn’t mind disfiguring others, like he’d done to her uncle. He didn’t mind deliberately hurting others, even innocent bystanders. She’d seen it herself; he nearly smashed a lead pipe down upon a young man’s face. 

  
Her moral standards were deteriorating fast, because if someone asked her if she hated Tommy, she’d have to say no. 

 

And maybe that is what scared her the most, because Tommy wasn’t a good man. Looking at only a fraction of the list of his crimes would be enough to mark him as evil. And the fact that he didn’t believe in God, went straight against everything she believed in. 

  
Her father would have called him a devil; a gypsy devil on top of that. He was without a soul, a code, or moral compass. And if her father hadn’t died, if she had still lived in her idyllic village, she would have agreed with her father a hundred percent and run off before ever crossing that Peaky Blinder devil’s path. 

 

Her entire upbringing and background told her to fear and shun everything she was doing. It was wrong to feel anything positive regarding her employers. 

 

Her teeth chewed on her lower lip and her tongue registered the copper taste of blood, she’d ripped her lip open again. 

 

_ Torn _ , it took her awhile to articulate that gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. Torn, that was how she felt, her past moral compass battling with her newly found sympathy towards Tommy’s twisted ways of life. 

 

“Hey there stranger,” Maria heard a familiar voice chirp nearby. Startled, she looked up towards Ada who gave her a toothy smile. Apparently, she’d been forgiven and Ada no longer gave her the silent treatment. That surprised her slightly, because the young woman had been awfully angry at her for keeping her mouth shut about what happened before Tommy crashed Russo’s car into the hospital. 

  
But clearly, she’d been forgiven because Ada sat down beside her. 

  
“You look gloomy, girl, a penny for your thoughts,” Ada joked, smoothing out her skirt. 

  
Her thoughts were the last thing she wanted to share, definitely not with Tommy’s sister. She risked a peek up and noticed Ada’s prying eyes. She was going to let it go, so she shrugged.   
“I’m just a little tired, that’s all,” she lied. 

  
“Tired? I’d say bored,” Ada filled in, “I’d get bored too, if I had to spend the entire day in uncle Charlie’s yard knees deep in horse shit.” 

  
Maria didn’t think it was wise to inform Ada that she actually loved every second of it and therefore kept her bloody lips tightly shut. 

  
“Wanna go to the boxing ring? Do a little betting? Don’t worry, I’ve got enough money for two,” Ada assured her, tapping smugly at her small purse. 

  
But Maria’s reluctance towards the offer had nothing to do with money. First of all, she wanted to indulge herself with every minute she’d been granted to share with the horses. And second, the images of Tommy being beaten nearly to death were still too fresh. The thought of seeing men replicate the same action purely for the thrill and fun of it, made her feel ill to her stomach. 

  
Ada must have sensed her hesitation and quickly raised another offer.

  
“The cinema then? I hear they’re showing a new Chaplin film this afternoon, “Ada mentioned, “my date stood me up and I’m not going all by myself.” 

  
Ada made it quite clear that Maria didn’t really had a choice in the matter, but she decided to make a last ditch effort.

  
“But what about my job? I’m not finished in the stables.”

 

Ada raised her eyebrow, “you work for the Shelby’s right? Well, I’m a bloody Shelby too and right now I need you as an acquaintance. So let’s go.” Ada jumped up and pulled on her sleeves, but then withdrew when she noticed the poor state of Maria’s clothes, “but first we’re going to rid you of these rags. Honestly, I don’t want the entire cinema to smell like, well, you. You can borrow some of my things and we can act like posh girls again, it’ll be fun. I promise!” 

 

.-.-. 

 

Arthur was visibly surprised to see his younger brother at the reception in a wheelchair wearing nothing more than his hospital gown. 

  
“Tom, are you feeling alright?” His brother had leaned over him to ask in a startled whisper. 

  
The clouded gaze he’d been able to maintain for the last couple of days at the reception cleared as he blinked his eyes. 

  
Tommy had been taking Maria’s words to heart:  _ it’s rather shocking how easily people forget you’re there if you’re spending hours and hours reading at the reception _ . 

  
Once Tommy had been informed that he needed to remain in the hospital for another excruciatingly long week, he decided he was going to use that time the best way he could.

Oh and he did use his time spent at the reception well, extremely well.

  
At first, the nurses had been reluctant to leave him out of their care, but he politely wrote them a letter that he’d liked to be among people and felt well enough to sit and wheel around for a couple of hours. 

  
He’d charmed the receptionist, with a few bats of his lashes and pleading blue eyes. She’d even brought him coffee and offered him cigarettes. Her name was Nancy, she was twenty three, was engaged. Her soon to be husband was an honorable doctor at the hospital and had served as a medic in the war. Steven, or Ste as she preferred to call him, gave her a chaste kiss every morning when he came in for work. 

  
This information didn’t seem like the information that would interest someone like Tommy Shelby, but the thing was, if you’re mute and can’t fucking stand long enough to take a damn piss, you start to notice all kinds of details.

 

Steve, or Ste, happened to have a tic. His left eye twitched and he always seemed in a rush and on alert when he came in to peck a quick kiss on his fiancée’s cheek. 

  
Ste had a habit hurrying off into the men’s bathroom across the reception. Again, not something anyone else would notice. But Tommy did, he really didn’t have anything else to do other than to listen and observe. In the wheelchair he didn’t stand out, didn’t strike any fear. Wearing his hospital gown was another part of his act, to cover up his gangster persona. Without his trademark flat cap and three piece suits, he was just another nameless faceless patient. 

 

Invisible so to speak. 

  
So, Ste would come out of the men’s room with a relieved expression. And not the kind of relief people usually felt after leaving the men’s room. And if someone wasn’t paying attention to details, it wouldn’t be noticeable that Ste’s pupils were slightly dilated. 

  
The highly respected doctor at Birmingham’s General hospital was a junkie, now  _ that  _ was interesting. Now, every good law abiding citizen would report this. 

  
But Tommy didn’t fit that box, so he’d taken two more days to observe the young doctor repeat the routine. A kiss, a fix. He did it two days in a row. That was enough to make it a pattern and not just a thrill. 

  
So on the third day, Tommy rolled his wheelchair towards the men’s room right after breakfast.

 

Nancy’s reception was still deserted, which was a good thing because the sweet girl would have called a nurse if she’d seen Tommy pushing his aching body up and staggering into the men’s room. He spent the first few minutes recovering from the short walk, with his ass parked on a toilet seat with the door locked. 

  
The concept of time was very distorted due to the fact he didn’t have a watch, but the aching in his body told him his next fix for morphine wasn’t far away. So it must be around eight.    
Ste didn’t fail Tommy’s theory, he recognized the footsteps of the young doctor and to his delight Ste locked himself in the stall next to his. 

  
Ste was in bad shape, cursing under his breath, fumbling to get his jacket off and eventually snorting and then sighing in relief.

  
Tommy shoved a pre-written letter across the floor and he could hear poor Ste gasp. 

  
“How do you know?” The young man whispered shocked.

  
_ People have eyes,  _ Tommy wrote in his notebook,  _ and mouths as well. If you don’t tell me where you get your fix I’m going straight to your supervisor.  _

 

The note wasn’t received well. “That’s blackmail!” Ste hissed aggravated and appalled.

 

_ True, but it’s also your job. It’s your call.  _

 

Ste took a tremendous amount of time to weigh out his options, so Tommy slipped him another note. 

 

_ I just need to know where you get your fix. If you tell me, this conversation never took place and I won’t say a word to anyone _ , he wrote down and clenched his jaw when he noticed the irony. 

 

This note got Ste talking though: “the hospital has a pharmaceutical deal with a factory in Amsterdam. They deliver us our opiates and narcotics.” 

 

_ Is this legal?  _ Tommy wrote, underlining the word  _ legal _ .

 

“Of course it’s legal, this is a hospital!” Ste grunted agitated. “The NCF has a permit to produce and sell all their products, as long as they sell it to big pharmaceutical customers.”

  
_ NCF?  _ Tommy scribbled down fast. 

 

“The Nederlandsche Cocainefabriek,” Ste answered fast, “it’s a Dutch company stationed in Amsterdam. Listen, I don’t know much about it, I just know the hospital gets a large part of their medical supplies from them. I don’t know anything else; I’m just… using their products. It’s not my fault though; did you serve in the war?”

  
_ Somme and Verdun, _ Tommy answered truthfully on paper. 

 

For the first time since their conversation started, Ste’s tone got a little softer. “Remember what the medics gave you if you were feeling beat?  _ Forced March;  _ that kept every man walking. Well, guess what the main ingredient is? And guess who produced that product.” 

  
Tommy felt his jaw drop, overwhelmed by the information Ste was forced to share. While Tommy let everything sink in, Ste coughed uneasily. 

  
“Listen, I’ve told you everything I know. It’s their fault I’m hooked. I’m a veteran like you, they doped me up the entire war to keep me going and now I’m barely getting by. I’ve got a missus and she’s expecting. I can’t lose my job, I can’t lose her,” his voice drifted off for a moment, “will you keep this a secret if I get you an address?” 

 

Tommy tore out one of his notes saying  _ yes _ and slipped it over along with his pen.

  
_ Eerste Schinkelstraat 30, Amsterdam _ . 

 

And that note was the first thing he shoved in Arthur’s hand as his brother sat down next to his wheelchair. 

  
“Amsterdam? What’s this address from Tom?” 

  
_ This Arthur, is our possible new business partner _ , Tommy showed Arthur a prewritten note,  _ what do you say about a small vacation to Amsterdam at the end of the month?  _

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N Ok, so I had an entire storyline DONE. But, I had the feeling something was missing. I’ve created an AU of the Peaky Blinders and want to make them create a cocaine imperium. And it bugged me that I only use the Chinese for this. So ‘Google is my best friend’ and I had a little breakthrough. I’m a Dutchie and I’m happy to add a little bit of my own country into this story. It’s sort of a black chapter in our history though. Because the NCF was a real thing. It was legal and completely corrupt, but again LEGAL. It’s low profile, I hadn’t heard of it up until yesterday and OMG I’m so excited to get into this part of history and ad it into my story, even the ‘Forced March’ thing, all true.  Oh the Peaky Boys versus Amsterdam, gotta love that!**

 

**For all those readers who are waiting for SOME KIND of Romance, I didn’t forget about that, we’re getting close. I just need to change a few things in order to create a complete new storyline with the parts I’ve already written.**

 

**Yeah, wish me luck!**

 

**Xoxoxo Nukyster**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	31. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What kind of a surprise?” Arthur questioned immediately, clearly not understanding the concept of a surprise.

 

 

.-.-.

 

“He wants to open up a pharmacy,” Aunt Pol spat as if Tommy wasn’t part of the conversation, “why on earth do we need a pharmacy?”

  
Since the question wasn’t directed towards Tommy, Arthur took the bullet and tipped back his hat. 

  
“To expand our below the counter business”, Arthur answered, hesitatingly gazing up at Tommy’s face. He simply waved his consent with his left hand, since his right was still in a sling. 

 

Tommy had to say, he had expected a different welcome home; something with ‘open arms’, not this crossed-armed-devil-silence bearing from Pol. She’d kept her mouth shut until Finn, John and Ada left and everything that escaped her lips was complete and utter frustration. 

 

Why Arthur considered it wise to spill a few details of Tommy’s new idea was still beyond him. But now that his blueprints lay out in the open, he couldn’t back out. 

  
_ It’s just in case the shit hits the fan in the bakery Pol _ , he wrote down when Arthur looked at him expectantly. It wasn’t a complete lie. This new master plan was going to be the main goal, but it could serve as a decent plan B  _ if _ their bakery cover-up was blown. 

 

“And  _ what  _ is that supposed to mean?” His aunt snapped offended, “you think I can’t handle being in charge of a bloody bakery? I’ve run our business for four damn years! And in case you bloody morons forgot, I used to whip your asses and noses, I’ve-”

 

That was the part Tommy stopped listening to his aunt’s tirade, pinched his nose and rubbed through his eyes until he saw stars. 

  
He was so glad to be home though. 

 

Arthur was trying to squeeze in a word or two, to either defend Tommy’s possible plan and at the same time ease Polly’s sermon. 

  
There was a soft, polite knock on their front door and Tommy had to control the urge to jump up and rush to it. Anything was better than to listen to his relatives  _ loudly  _ bicker back and forth while he needed to relay on pen and papers. 

  
Maria looked twice as tired since the last time he saw her at the hospital. He’d halfheartedly expected that and felt the familiar pinch of guilt in his heart as he acknowledged her presents with a stiff nod. 

  
“You look well,” Maria muttered eying him up from the tip of his toes up to his bruised face. 

She wasn’t entirely right and not entirely wrong. He looked better than the last time they were together, but walking was still a bloody nightmare. He still lacked strength and energy. His face no longer shared traits with the hunchback of the Notre Dame, but it was still clear he’d taken a good beating. The sling was just the cherry on top, but necessary.

 

Arthur could now be heard shouting too and the two of them exchanged gazes on the doorstep. Tommy abruptly closed the door, fetching himself a cigarette and a match. 

 

Lighting a cigarette with only one functioning arm was a challenge but he’d rather eat his flat cap then ask for Maria for help. He was discharged from the hospital; he’d donned on his three piece suit and tie - which had taken him a ridiculous amount of time and effort. Point was; he was done being the fucking patient. 

 

He sighed in relief, he’d been able to light his cigarette, he was smoking and more important he wasn’t a part of the argument inside. 

  
“Why are they fighting?” Maria murmured uneasily, nervously eying through their window where the fucking next world war seemed to be taken place. 

 

_ Because I have a plan,  _ he signed, stiffly using his right hand in the sling. It took longer than he’d liked and he was glade Maria seemed to understand him,  _ Polly never likes my plans _ . 

  
“Does this plan involve us aggravating more Italians?” 

  
Tommy smirked, noticing the ‘ _ us’ in _ her question. Approving his speaker’s clear-cut question he signed:  _ not in the slightest _ . 

  
“Good,” Maria muttered, wrapping her arms around her chest. She seemed to have a whole storm of thoughts inside her head, but unable to express them she repeated her first statement: “Good.” 

 

The smoke and nicotine made him feel dizzy. Or maybe it was the fact that the doctor told him firmly to be on bed rest for at least the first couple of days; an order he completely ignored ever since he left the hospital. Either way, he was dizzy and still unsteady on his feet. 

 

The concerned crease in between Maria’s eyebrows made it clear that it showed. Though she didn’t mention his readable misery and patiently waited at his side while he smoked. It gave him the opportunity to observe her without making it too obvious. 

  
Her time spent working at the stables had given her a fair freckled skin a rosy color. It made Tommy wonder how much she actually hated being back at his side. Of course she didn’t show her discomfort, she was too well behaved to complain about being torn from the work she loved. 

She looked tired, dark circles had manifested themselves underneath her eyes. Although she had a split lower lip, she kept her mouth firmly poised into a polite puckered smile. 

 

They were an odd pair, cut throat gangster accompanied by miss goody-two-shoes. They would be having a perfect moment in silence if his head would stop thumping; his knees stopped buckling and the two raging voices inside would mellow down. 

 

Their semi perfect break was roughly disrupted when Polly busted through the door. With predatorial raging eyes, she took one look at Maria and started shouting something that started with  _ bloody gorger girl  _ and ended with a long list of how Tommy managed to completely push her to the end of her fucking wits. 

 

Tommy heard little and cared less; he arched an eyebrow when Polly judgmentally crossed her arms, expecting a response. 

  
“Oh fine act like the sodding mute, see if I care!” Polly snarled at him, practically fuming and marched off not caring to take her coat or purse. 

  
“Why does she hate me so much?” Maria carefully whispered when she was sure the murderous woman was far out of earshot. 

  
“Don’t ya worry lass, Polly hates everyone equally today,” Arthur piped in, hovering over her shoulder, “blimey, not surprised that she kept business running smoothly for four years. That woman turns into the devils hellspawn. She did mention - along with many other things I will not repeat since there’s a lady here - that she took care of the  _ thing _ you asked her about. According to her it should be delivered at Charlie’s yard in the afternoon. Mind telling me what that  _ thing  _ is Tom?” 

  
Two pairs of curious eyes stared up at him in anticipation. 

 

His gaze darted between Arthur and Maria, he momentarily forgot the pain lurking from various parts of his body and he suppressed a cautious grin.  

  
_ S-u-r-p-r-i-s-e,  _ he finger spelled intentionally, taking a long drag of his cigarette. 

 

“It’s a surprise,” Maria informed Arthur who dully peeked at her for translation.

  
“What kind of a surprise?” Arthur questioned immediately, clearly not understanding the concept of a surprise. 

 

But instead of rolling his eyes, Tommy tapped down on Arthur’s temple and roughly ruffled his brother’s slick backed hair. Earning a competitive, yet playful nudge back he shook his head and retreated back into the house.

 

He was biting the inside of his cheek to keep up the casual walk. Arthur’s tussle caused him more pain then he was willing to show and his fingers twitched as he pulled back a chair to crash down upon. 

  
Maria sensed a small part of his dismay, but poured him a cup of tea instead of asking him about it. 

  
“Talking about surprises, I’m throwing you a party,” Arthur flatly revealed, receiving a steaming cup from Maria, “thanks love, mind getting us something stronger too?” he ordered in a nicely wrapped up question, waving towards their cupboard. 

  
“It’s your welcome back party and a nice way of showing off our new club. I’ve invited Zilpha, since her men will likely play a big part in our cocaine business. Mending walls as well as, I guess, tightening bonds and all.” 

  
Tommy’s cup stopped midair and he had to blink three times before he realised he’d heard his brother correctly.  Was Arthur more-brawn-than-brains Shelby actually thinking things through? 

  
“Well, what do you think?” Arthur asked eagerly, “no use of a party if the guest of honor doesn’t bother to show.” 

  
Clearly Arthur misinterpreted Tommy’s lack of response. Tommy blinked again, still processing and then finally took a sip from his tea, scorching his lips on the hot liquid. 

  
Maria silently placed two glasses on their dinner table, spying on both men. 

  
Tommy finally seemed to come to his senses and with great grandeur yanked the whiskey bottle from between Maria’s elbow. 

  
Raising it high he tauntingly grinned at his brother and quickly poured them two glasses. 

  
“If that’s not a yes, I don’t know what is,” Arthur grunted amused, taking the drink being offered.    
The rest of Tommy’s morning mainly consisted of indulging in the two things that kept the pain bearable; smoking and drinking. It wasn’t a good combination. Lighting his cigarette with the next and drinking whiskey like it was water. After such long time of abstinence, the booze kicked in quickly and combined with the toxic smoke made him nauseous and hazy. It was an enjoyably familiar state. 

  
Arthur talked about all of his plans concerning the party. Arthur’s enthusiasm and cheeriness was contagious. With Maria at his side he nearly forgot he wasn’t directly talking to his brother. And vice versa, Arthur no longer seemed bothered by the fact that Tommy needed a lass to do the talking for him. 

  
Arthur went on and on about the variety of expensive champagne he’d picked. According to him, it all taste like piss, but  _ expensive piss _ . The coppers on their payroll knew about the exclusive party and would keep it just that,  _ exclusive _ . 

  
Tommy was silently enjoying all the thoughts that came from his brother’s mouth and felt strangely awkward about being the guest of honor. It would be the first official time out of the shadows and it should be scaring him more. 

 

But  _ fuck it _ ; he was the mastermind of their blooming cocaine imperium. He nearly died a few weeks ago and celebrating the fact that he  _ didn’t  _ would be the last  _ fuck you  _ to Russo’s deteriorating dismembered corpse. 

  
Maria fluently translated between the two brothers and secretly seemed to share their spirit. 

  
Munching on a piece of stale bread she signed to Tommy,  _ I don’t want to spoil the fun, but shouldn’t you get ready? _

_   
_ For a moment Tommy forgot about his own surprise. Leaning back on his seat he craned his head towards their antique clock and nudged his head towards their front door. 

  
_ What shoes are you wearing? _ He signed, fearing that if he’d duck his head underneath the table he’d lose his balance. 

  
Maria frowned and slowly raised her brightly polished Mary Jane’s, which made Tommy snigger. 

  
“What?” Maria huffed baffled. 

  
Tommy raised his arms in defense and gestured his two tablemates to get ready.

  
“Why are you smirking?” Maria muttered suspicious as she followed him towards Arthur’s car. Tommy shrugged it off and opened up her car door. Reluctantly, she took a seat in the back and Arthur shared her mood. 

  
“Try not to puke this time,” the driver said while turning the car in reverse.

  
The short ride to Charlie’s hard was enough for Maria’s stomach to make one pit stop. The lass started gagging at the first corner and Tommy made a mental note to never feed her before a long car ride. 

  
If he hadn’t been so weak-kneed, drunk and aching, they would have walked. 

  
There was a large trailer blocking the entrance of Charlie’s yard, which made Arthur curse and Tommy was just fast enough to prevent his brother from firmly planting his fist into the horn.

  
He motioned for Arthur to wait inside the car; he stepped out and swung Maria’s door open. Like a complete gentleman, he held out his hand and helped her step out. 

  
Her eyebrows were high up and hidden behind her bangs. He enjoyed her cluelessness. Extending her torment a little longer, he took a tremendous time taking out a long piece of red ribbon out of his pocket.    

  
“What am I supposed to do with this?” She muttered, thoughtfully staring at the ribbon as he pressed it into her hands.

  
_ Do I look like a man that wraps presents? _ Tommy stoically signed to her, placing a fresh cigarette between his lips. He noticed Curly’s frantic excitement when the trailer driver stepped out. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. 

  
“Shelby? Thomas Shelby?” The driver asked, staring at both men.

  
Tommy nodded, took Maria by the hand and yanked the trailer open. 

  
Maria’s spotless Mary Jane’s froze solid to the sandy floor and a tiny sob died in the back of her throat. The red ribbon slipped through her fingers. 

  
Her head flung to his side and her huge eyes locked onto his like magnets. For a moment, Tommy was sure he could actually hear her heart skip a beat inside her chest. 

 

His glance, a conspiratorial wink, seemed to certify her silent question.

 

_ Surprise, he’s yours _ , Tommy signed and nudged his head towards Precious. 

 

“You got him back,” she whispered, still unable to believe her own eyes, “you brought Precious back…”

  
She threw her arms around Tommy and hugged him tightly, burying her face into the thick material of his jacket. Clueless of how much her embrace hurt him she murmured: “Thank you, thank you!” 

  
Tommy let out a pain plagued inarticulate sound from the back of his throat, because she was crushing his right arm; which was in a sling. 

  
Realisation hit her and she immediately drew back. “I’m sorry I-” words left her lips as the first of her tears broke free. The rest followed in an unbroken stream. Pressing her palms onto her eyes in a weak attempt to stop the steady stream of tears, she rushed into the trailer and hugged the young stallion with the same force she’d captured Tommy with. 

 

“You bought her a horse,” Arthur stated the obvious, scratching the back of his scalp, “that must have cost you a small fortune. Poll is going to love that.” 

  
Tommy couldn’t hide his satisfied smirk. 

  
“You bought back the bloody horse,” Arthur mentioned again, “that fat Italian must have hit your harder than I thought.” 

  
Tommy leaned back against the trailer, blocking out Arthur’s teasing comments and watched as his speaker pressed her forehead against Precious’ snout and giggled softly as the energetic animal sniffed her short hair. 

  
Arthur was right, Precious cost a small fortune to buy back. But Maria gained him a club and an even larger fortune. She’d never asked for anything in return, besides giving Russo’s girls better working conditions. 

  
If anyone would ask, he’d tell them he only gave her the horse because she happened to play her role at their poker night well. 

  
But honestly, it was just a kind,  _ right  _ thing to do. After dragging her through hell, after her patiently sitting by his side at the hospital while he wasn’t even well enough to take a piss or drink by himself. She deserved this, Precious belonged to her. 

  
“You’re really going to keep him this time?” Maria pressed from the back of the trailer, frantically looking back at him.

  
_ He’s yours _ , he explained to her again,  _ Curly can keep an eye on him and take care of him while you’re doing your job. But he’ll be yours.  _

_   
_ “I can’t afford a horse,” Maria realised dejectedly.

  
_ But I can and I will _ , Tommy signed stepping inside Precious’ trailer. The stallion looked well fed, fur a little unkempt to Tommy’s liking, but nothing Curly’s TLC couldn’t handle. 

  
Stroking Precious’ neck, he noticed Maria’s doe-eyes fill up with adoration. 

 

_ You’ve got the rest of the afternoon off, I think up in the attic are still a pair of my working trousers,  _ he informed her and then amusingly added,  _ try not to ruin your shoes _ .    
  


.-.-.

 

**So, at which point did you as the reader figure/find out Precious was the surprise? My oh my do I spot some softness inside that gangster’s heart? I’ve had this chapter in mind the moment I wrote that Tommy was selling Precious. The horse has served such purpose for the story, because he’s the first reason Tommy started to open up to Maria. Precious is a key element between the two of them. And after Russo’s torture and the hospital scenes I really wanted to write something sweet.**

 

**Xoxoxo Nukyster**

 


	32. Facing demons of our past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever Arthur Senior’s reasoning was to treat Tommy with such little respect, it left a mark on the young man sitting across Polly.

**A/N For the first part I’ve listened to Vices, from Dead Poetics, I highly suggest you do the same :)**

 

 

.-.-.

 

Polly half expected her family to be sat at the dinner table. Her plan had been too passive aggressively spend the entire evening ignoring her two oldest nephews and bite off their heads if they dared to make any comment on her childish behavior. 

  
But when she came home, only Ada and Finn looked up from their plate. Clearly the two of them had been left to fend for themselves, considering Ada’s horrific attempt to prepare dinner. 

  
“Where’s the rest?”

  
“Hi to you too Pol, I had a lovely day thank you for asking,” Ada retorted, picking on a scorched potato, “they’re all out. John’s gone off to the Chinese market, probably shagging that Asian hooker. Not sure where Arthur and Tommy are though.” 

  
Polly hummed, considering filling a plate with Ada’s poor attempt for dinner, then settled with a glass of wine. 

  
“Finn, be a dear and go play in the yard,” Polly ordered the youngest of the Shelby clan once the boy had finished his meal, “Ada and I need to talk.” 

  
Finn knew better than to test Polly’s patience, not when she had that look in her eyes and had a glass of wine in her hand.  

  
“I took her to the cinema again,” Ada began, “she’s a bit wimpy about boxing,” she scoffed and rolled her eyes, “I can’t believe  _ of all people _ you made me spy and backstab this beacon of innocence.” 

  
“She’s not that innocent, she nearly cut Russo’s cock off,” Polly spat before her common sense could stop her. 

  
Ada’s jaw dropped, “She  _ what _ ?” 

  
“ _ Not  _ the point,” Polly hissed through her teeth, cursing herself for being so lax with sharing details, “do you think she trusts you?” 

  
“Pol, I’m the younger sister of the Shelby brothers, there is not a mortal in this city that trusts me,” Ada retorted, picking on her ruined food. There was some pride gleaming from her eyes though. Ada’s last name was her free pass to roam through their city without having to worry about being harassed or follow any rules. She indeed was the  _ little sister _ everyone knew about and as the rebellious young woman she was, Ada loved to milk that. 

  
“She doesn’t trust me, but she considers me a friend,” Ada shared thoughtful, “to be honest, I feel sorry for her. She’s not like us Pol, she’s much softer, easier to bend and break.” 

  
That was exactly the part of her that Polly despised. Maria’s virtuous overall appearance stood out in a damned city such as Small Heath. It made her desirable.

 

In particular, it made her desirable to someone like Tommy. As the backbone of the family, he’d been molded into acting out towards those weaker. 

 

And this damsel in distress put a bloody spell on him; he’d gone bonkers ever since she got him out of the stables. A  _ pharmacy, _ first a bloody bakery, which in all fairness made sense, but now a  _ pharmacy _ for some idiotic, completely ludicrous plan to expand business. Arthur had been particularly vague about  _ how _ a pharmacy could contribute to Tommy’s cocaine empire and she hadn’t bothered to ask, because she’d been fuming. 

 

It was absolutely ridiculous that Tommy acted without even  _ considering  _ her opinion. Before the war, she’d been his right hand and vice versa, together weighing off their options and possible plans for the future. 

 

But now… he made her feel as if she was the working-class wench, being left in the dark while that little bitch joined every meeting. 

  
“Pol, don’t take this the wrong way, but aren’t you overreacting?” Ada dared to ask. “It’s one very plain, very mediocre girl. She has no voice-”

 

“-That’s where you’re mistaken,” Polly cut her off, “she  _ is _ his voice.” She spat with so much venom she actually scared herself. It wasn’t simply envy she felt towards the girl, it was her coping mechanism. It was easier to hate Maria than to mourn for the Tommy they’d lost. 

 

Maria embodied Tommy’s handicap, because she’d taken over his deep, gravelly voice. Tommy’s choice of words now sounded soft spoken, young and feminine. 

 

And every time Maria shifted into her role as Tommy’s speaker and talked  _ for him _ , it was as if she tore old wounds open. 

  
“Keep an eye on her and keep her in line,” Polly spat at her niece. 

  
Ada only shook her head and snorted, dropping dirty dishes in even dirtier water. 

  
“Aye, captain. I’ll be her fucking shadow and suck up to her. She’ll be eating out of the palm of my hand, just relax let me handle this,” Her niece announced with an elevated smile, “now, I made dinner, so someone else can do the dishes,” Ada blew her a kiss and quickly ran upstairs before Polly could respond. 

  
Polly looked at the warzone, previously known as their kitchen, and slipped out a few old Romani curses. For a moment, she picked up a sponge and made a half-hearted attempt to scrape the burnt potato remains from the bottom of her favourite skillet. 

 

‘Fuck it,’ she thought and threw the ruined cast iron pan into the sink and took the bottle of wine from the counter. At least Ada had failed to damage everything in the kitchen. She opened up a window to allow fresh air to cast out the stench of Ada’s failed dinner.

Polly bit off the cork and sat down on the small space of the countertop that hadn’t been touched by her niece’s awful attempt at being a housewife. 

 

Huddling herself in a blanket of self-pity and brooding thoughts, she didn’t hear the sounds of keys being shoved into the front door’s lock. 

  
It took her half a glass before she even noticed Tommy stumbling into the kitchen. Still holding his keys her nephew doubled over, reflectively putting out his good arm and caught the armrest of their leather Morris chair to prevent himself from falling face first onto the floor. 

  
He was drunk as a fiddler.

 

“Tommy, Jesus!” Polly breathlessly exclaimed, lowering herself from her kitchen throne, placing her glass on the counter. 

  
Tommy seemed vaguely aware of her presence and gave her a guilty, yet smug, grin. 

 

_ B-u-s-t-e-d, _ he finger spelled stiffly with the fingers of his confined right hand. His left was still holding him up. With eyes rolling back into his skull Tommy’s knees buckled and he barely was able to shove himself onto the cushions of the Morris chair. 

  
It used to be their father’s chair, one of the last reminders of his tyranny. Polly had mentioned more than once to get rid of the damn thing. But the three eldest declined. She never understood why the boys wanted to keep the ugly thing. As time passed, the boys would occasionally take a seat on their father’s chair, digging their fingertips into the worn leather. Tommy once put his cigarette out on the arm rest and Arthur kicked the thing all over their living room after a bar fight gone bad. 

  
Polly had started to understand their need to keep the damned chair. It was because they  _ could _ , because they were in charge of the house now. None of the boys ever spoke about their father; Ada was the only one willing to occasionally talk about their disastrous upbringing. As a young girl, she would accidently slip fragments of both the physical and emotional torture they endured by the hands of their own father.  

  
The chair had been their father’s pride, off limits and to even so much as look at it was enough cause to be punched in the face. With a fist; their father did not give discipline lightly.

  
The remnant of their father’s chair was an ultimate  _ fuck you _ to their tormentor. A reminder to the boys that they  _ could _ sit in the damn thing. 

  
“You’re drunk,” Polly stated unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.   

  
Tommy laughed, but it was cold. Loosening his tie and unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt, he craned his head towards her and gave her the long and stern look that she hated so much.

  
The resemblance to his father was uncanny, it plagued him, they both knew he didn’t want to be anything like that damned devil. But it was there, it was all there. Although the booze blurred his vision, the deep seated stoic gaze was present. 

  
“Didn’t the doctor specifically tell you to,  _ at least _ have another week of bed rest?” Polly pointed out cynically. 

  
Tommy scoffed, mockingly raising his eyebrows and practically begging to be slapped across the face for being such an utter little shit. 

 

Although the evidence of Russo’s beating nearly left his face, he was already back onto the desolated road of complete self-destruction. 

  
Polly noticed she was the subject of Tommy’s observations, although a large amount of alcohol rushed through his system, his icy blue eyes were still alert and focused on her. 

  
It was sad really, how second nature that was for him; being alert, pragmatic, always on edge and ready for the worst. The war had magnified those traits, but they had been embedded into his soul from a very young age. 

 

Again, their father was again to thank for all that. For some reason it had seemed to affect Tommy the most. Although Arthur was the oldest, Tommy had taken on the role as his sibling’s keeper. Arthur had taken on most of the beatings, but their father at least had some kind of respect for his oldest son. 

  
Tommy only seemed to summon up his loathing. Maybe it was because of Tommy’s sense of responsibility that made their father target him the most. Maybe Tommy’s utter devotion to protecting his family made their father see his own negligence. 

  
Whatever Arthur Senior’s reasoning was to treat Tommy with such little respect, it left a mark on the young man sitting across Polly. 

  
With his cold and callous ways, he subconsciously forced himself into being a man his father might be able to admire. Tommy wouldn’t confess it if he’d been held at gunpoint, but somewhere deep down there was still a small boy inside with a desperate desire to please his abusive father. 

  
Tommy’s forced on callous characteristics went straight against his real nurturing nature, but Polly knew better then to mention Tommy’s soft side, because in his eyes that made him weak. 

And if he thought that other people might consider him weak, he’d raise up his walls so high it would take weeks to reach him again. 

  
It was a constant war, behind those icy blues. And a damn struggle to guide, because the moment Tommy considered letting you in, his father’s iron fist would push you right out. 

 

It was a constant battle between giving him a shoulder to cry on, or being cold and inconsiderate. 

  
How do you express your love to someone whose first instinct is to withdraw in panic? 

 

Because how can someone love him, if his own mother barely defended him and his own father considered him weak and useless? Polly couldn’t understand why their upbringing was the heaviest on Tommy’s shoulders. Sure, Arthur, John, Ada and young Finn were affected by their past, but not like Tommy. Once they buried their mother, all had been able to adapt to Polly’s strict but fair rules. All the Shelby siblings simply accepted Polly as the new head of their household. 

 

But not Tommy, he’d take every rule to the test, make everything into an argument, test her limits and at times make her want to pack up and leave. 

 

And he’d always throw that at her feet, once he knew he’d pushed her far enough to strangle him with his own tie. 

 

_ Leave _ , he’d tell her, _ because you’re not our mother, we’re not your responsibility, so leave if you want _ . 

 

At times she wanted too. At times she’d honestly gone up the stairs, dragged out her suitcase and started packing up. 

 

But there had always been a good reason to stay. Sometimes it was Finn’s frantic cries, Ada’s desperate pleads, either John or Arthur telling her Tommy was sorry. 

  
Tommy never said it himself; he’d silently brood alongside her for a couple of days, observing her as she’d unpack her suitcase. He’d ignore her for a while and then casually start speaking to her as if nothing happened. 

  
She’d been taken to the limit, time after time, because Tommy honestly couldn’t believe anyone would want to stay. Not with them, not with the offspring of Nee and Arthur Sr. Shelby. 

 

Even now, after all these years, Polly still hadn’t fully passed his test, because  _ right now _ he was trying to push her away again. 

 

By being cold and careless, unlovable and a drunk, just like his father. 

  
Tommy’s lips stiffened as he reached into his pocket to collect an envelope. 

  
The letter was discretely sealed with candle wax and had her name on it, written in his immaculate handwriting. It must have hurt him, to use his right hand.

  
Placing the envelope on their coffee table, Tommy tsked and pushed himself onto both feet. Without blinking or a sign of goodbye he uncaringly staggered off, leaving Polly startled on top of their counter. 

  
Tommy’s laid out letter was thoughtfully torn and Polly pulled out the letter: 

 

_ Dear Pol,  _

  
_ To be straight forward, I’m never going to speak again. There isn’t a cure; there isn’t a pill, a therapy, a gypsy ritual to give me back my speech. The doctor explained to me in the hospital that there is a part in my brain so damaged I’m unable to ever utter a single syllable. This is what I am now; this is all I can be. And this is my burden to bare. I’m disabled, incomplete and damaged.  _ __   
  


_ This however, doesn’t give you the right to look at me like you do, every day. You look at me as if I’m in a coffin, not breathing, dead. You don’t have to right to act like it’s my funeral, every damn day.  _

 

_ I’d also like to address that I’ve postponed my death wish. So you no longer should feel the need to hold my hand all the fucking time.  _ __   
  


_ I’m already broken, but that doesn’t mean I will break.  _ __   
  


_ If you want me back protecting our kin, you need to give me space and give this speechless Tommy the benefit of the doubt. One day, he’ll hopefully be good enough. _ __   
__   
_ Don’t mention this letter tomorrow morning, not to anyone, because it’s better for them not to know the truth. Burn it and if you need to, consider it the cremation of the old Tommy.    _ __   
_   
_ __ This is the best and all I can be,

 

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Thomas M. Shelby.  _

 

.-.-.

 

“He bought you a bloody horse,” Ada sulked for the third time, “a horse. Do you know what he gave me for my birthday? New shoes, I’m his  _ sister _ , by blood. You’re his, what’s the word again? Speaker and you get a horse.” A plagued sighed escaped the throat of the mopping young woman next to Maria.    
  
A few days passed and news had spread fast. Too fast to Maria’s liking, since she was planning to keep Precious a secret from her mum and sisters.    
  
Tommy’s reasoning for getting her the young stallion back was still beyond her, and although she was in utter bliss about it, she knew her mother wouldn’t consider it as a ‘simple’ present. 

  
Because honestly, what right in the head employer would give a working-class girl a horse?

  
And although Maria was almost certain there wasn’t a catch, her mother wouldn’t think of this lightly. No, her mum would probably think she’d sold her soul to those gypsy devils. 

 

So the less her mother and sisters knew, the better. She already had a hard time making up lie after lie to keep her family in the dark about the true nature of her job. 

  
It was hard, the constant lying and keeping up a blank face. 

  
“You know he’s just using you right?” Ada shared, deliberately picking harsh words, “you’re a simple tool to him.” 

  
Maria hummed, partly agreeing and partly not. Ada’s statement didn’t surprise her, but it caught her attention. There was a jealous undertone behind her sharp remark. Ada envied the way Tommy treated her and that could lead her into a dangerous position. As Ada had claimed a few times before, she was a Shelby too, which gave her power and the upper hand. 

  
Deciding to stay on Ada’s good side, Maria diplomatically agreed. 

 

  
“You’re right, I don’t matter at all,” she spoke steadying her steps to keep up with Ada’s rapid tempo. 

  
Her answer earned her an approving glance from the other young women, who quickly continued with their previous chit-chat. 

  
“I’m so thrilled for Tommy’s party,” Ada exclaimed for the tenth time since she’d picked Maria up from home, “we are going to look superb, sensational!” She promised, tapping on her small purse, “and don’t worry about pennies girl, it’s going on my brother’s account.”

  
Maria lacked Ada’s spirit, the thought of spending an evening inside the Shepherd was just about the last thing on her mind. But nobody asked her opinion, so she didn’t have a choice but to try and share Ada’s passion and go dress shopping. 

  
“Have you ever had anything stronger than tea?” Ada questioned. “Oh, let me guess, no. I bet you’ve never even been tipsy before,” the girl added amused. 

  
“I once had a bit of Brandy when I had a toothache,” Maria threw in as response, “and a sip of wine when I was with Tommy.” 

  
Ada snorted and clasped her shoulders playfully: “Oh you sweet summer child, you’re in for a blast. Since we’re back to being dear friends, we should celebrate and drink and dance the night away!” Ada twirled on her heels and swayed on her feet to give her words more power. “You and I girl, we are going to drink ourselves silly, let’s spoil some of your virtue.”

  
Maria’s aversion towards Tommy’s welcome back party seemed to grow by the minute. 

  
“I can’t stay too long; I have a curfew, my mother-”

  
“- _ Curfew _ ?!” Ada cut her off, “Jesus, how old are you, five? If you think your mommy will be a problem, we’ll just fix that problem.” Ada pulled her cigarettes from her purse and lit one. “Here, you take one and keep the rest; you’ll need them at the party.” 

  
Obediently Maria did what was ordered and stored the package in her pocket. 

 

Just when she thought her day couldn’t possible get any worse Uncle Walter turned around the corner. He noticed her immediately and his face spoke volumes, he was mad enough to chew nails and spit rivets.  

  
Maria’s first reaction was to run, but she was rooted to the spot. Uncle Walter detected her fright and with a malicious screwed up face paced towards her.  

 

Ada also noticed the sudden change in her bearing and it didn’t take her long to put two and two together. 

  
Before uncle Walter had time to get his hands on Maria and probably choke the life out of her Ada stepped in, placing herself within the line of fire. 

  
“Excuse me, but could you possibly sod off?” The impertinent girl spat, while Maria’s uncle towered over her. 

  
Walter Pratt was visibly shocked by the audacity of the young woman facing up at him. It took him a moment to recognize who it was who dared to speak to him with such little respect. It was Ada’s last name that was preventing Walter Pratt from viciously slapping the Shelby girl across the face.    

  
“Before you open that mangled mouth of yours, better remember who gave you that smile in the first place,” Ada piped in, “and before you start insulting  _ my friend _ , remember who I am and who’s she’s with.” 

  
Walter Pratt gnashed the teeth he still had, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. His hands balled into fists, but as Ada’s words sank in, he unballed them, shoving them deep inside his pockets. 

  
Without speaking a word Walter Pratt moved around the two girls and picked up his pace. 

  
“Isn’t it lovely when your best friend is a Shelby?” Ada beamed; unbothered by the glance of utter hatred she’d received from the brutish man. 

  
“Now, let’s buy things to makes us prettier!” 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: I love Ada; I think she’d do wonderful in Mean Girls. This chapter turned out a lot longer than I intended. It should have been a simple filler for the next one. But for some reason I suddenly felt the need to explain a little more about MuteTommy and address why and how he turned out to be so cold and callous. I’m interested in psychology and know because of some personal experiences how hard it is to deal with a person who’s struggling to bond with someone else. I also like how in Polly’s POV we got a little more depth on how/why she despises Maria.** ****  
****  
  


 

**Next chapter is going to be as Ada put it, superb!**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

  
  
  



	33. Late night lush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It happened when he walked her home late that night.

**A/N my guilty pleasure for this chapter was ‘At my weaknesses by James Arthur, yes I am that cheesy.**

 

.-.-.

  
  


It happened when he walked her home late that night.

  
She’d been  _ late _ , that’s what bothered him the moment Arthur started his toast. The Shepherd had been transformed into a beacon of class and excessive wealth. It was a complete overkill on everything the Blinders had to offer. Alcohol, money, cocaine and women. It was their private party, only Blinders and Lee’s were allowed. Tommy had done his best to appear as impeccable as possible, which had taken him a long time, considering he still struggled to use his right hand. It had taken him ages to pull himself inside a three-piece suit, tie the laces of his cap toe Oxfords’ and steady his trademark flat cap on top of his head. For the occasion he’d left the sling at home, waving the last bit of his sick days farewell. 

  
The black performers paused their rhythmic Jazz as they’d been given a cue and a line of flapper dressed waitresses came out to serve all guests champagne. 

  
Arthur’s speech had been decent, succinct and didn’t hold as many curses as Tommy expected. Zilpha seemed pleased about his brother’s kind words towards her kin and tipped her glass Tommy’s way as they all drank to celebrate their new cooperation and of course the return of the guest of honour. Arthur’s smirk grew wider as he stood on stage, taking in all the attention. He chugged down his champagne at once and slammed the glass onto a silver tray one of the waitresses held. 

  
That was the cue for the band to continue their performance and soon fast dancers filled the dance floor, moving to an upbeat rhythm. Once the champagne doused everyone’s blood and the silver platters started to be used for lines of coke, the atmosphere gained a more openly sexual element to it. 

  
“Happy to have you here Tom,” Arthur confided theatrically, “you’re my right hand, my main man, the bloody advisor! Without you I wouldn’t be owning this place. A place with big tits!” 

  
Tommy rolled his eyes at his brother’s repeated phrase as they clinked their glasses together. Arthur had traded his second champagne for a snifter glass and poured down his whiskey. 

  
“Where’s that little speaker lass of yours by the way?” His brother asked, pulling a waitress’ shoulder to dump his glass and wolf down some of the fancy appetizers. 

  
Tommy had been wondering about that for a good half an hour now and started to feel more and more out of his element. Of course he’d packed his notebook; he learned to always keep a piece of paper in reach ever since Maria won them the Shepherd. But still, he didn’t want to fall back into a second hand form of communication, definitely not during such an important night as this. 

  
To prevent himself from indulging in the large amounts of cocaine and free drinks, he took out a cigarette and offered one to his brother. Smoking helped to take a little of the edge off, but it still pissed him off that his speaker was nowhere in sight. 

  
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Arthur spat abruptly and it took Tommy less than a second to notice what had triggered Arthur’s mixture of shock and annoyance.

  
Ada waltzed through the main entrance with as much grandeur as she could muster. She’d taken the flapper girl theme all the way, wearing a dropped down waistline dress with a plunging neckline and back. The long emerald green shoulder length gloves matched the dress and apparently she’d plundered Polly’s jewellery chest. A long pearl necklace bounced from her chest as she moved to the music. She’d been drinking; of course, his baby sister was highly intoxicated and swaying on the dance floor.

  
And she’d tagged his speaker along in her crimes. 

  
Arthur shouted something to Ada about taming it down a little bit and didn’t notice how Tommy froze.

Maria was being pulled onto the dance floor by Ada, wearing a similar outfit, being in a similar state.  _ Drunk _ . The lashes of her sleeveless dress were provocatively swaying from her shoulders. She didn’t look as tacky as she’d been during their first encounter in the Shepherd and had kept her make up to a minimal. As if on cue, she took out her lipstick from a tiny handbag to apply more, then nudged Ada’s shoulder and handed it over, pointing at his sister’s lips. 

  
They were giggling, dancing and cheering when a waiter brought them a glass of gin.    
A vein seemed to pop inside his head and Tommy rushed towards the two highly intoxicated girls. 

  
_ What do you think you’re doing _ ? He signed to Maria with utter frustration. His speaker eyed him up and down, taking a sip from her drink and honestly didn’t seem to understand where his anger came from. 

  
“Having fun, Ada told me to have some fun, like all the preppy girls do so,” she shrugged, allowing the straps of her dress to slide down further, “that’s what we’re doing, having fun.”    
Tommy stared at his speaker to his sister who suppressed a mischievous smile. 

  
“She was so nervous getting to the party. So we made a little pit stop along the way, I bought her some drinks to drain the stress out!” Ada exclaimed, patting Maria on the shoulders. “Don’t worry Tommy, she ain't the first good girl to go bad and she certainly won’t be the last.” 

  
Maria didn’t even notice Ada’s words as she stumbled a little on her feet in heels to high and definitely not her size. 

 

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose, when that didn’t give him any form of self-control he rubbed his eyes until he saw stars. Was it illegal to execute your own sister if she pushes you into insanity? 

  
Tommy shook his head, giving the universe a big  _ fuck you _ and then quickly snatched the glass from Maria’s hand. 

  
_ No more alcohol for you _ , he ordered her, downing her glass and being a complete hypocrite,  _ take Ada to the ladies' room, freshen up and come back to me. You’re my speaker, be presentable!  _

_   
_ Maria’s droopy eyes and complete lack of focus told him she wasn’t going to be of any use this evening. He threw his hands up in the air and signed:  _ Fuck it; you know what knock yourself out. You wanna be a preppy drunk bitch, then be one! _

_   
_ He yanked a waitress closer and gave Maria another glass which she hesitantly took. She seemed bothered by his outrage and close to tears. Luckily, Ada came to her rescue.

  
“C’mon Tom, let her have a night of fun, I’ll take good care of her!” His sister pressed, clutching his arm. 

  
He didn’t respond and drew his arm back. Fine, if the two hissy fits wanted to get unbelievably drunk and make a complete fool out of themselves, let them have the night. They’d be hung over in the morning; it would be a good life lesson. 

  
Tommy retreated from the dance floor and exchanged bothered gazes with Arthur.

  
_ Let them have this, we’ll keep an eye on them,  _ he wrote down in his notebook and showed his brother. 

  
“No-one is mad enough to touch them anyway;” Arthur muttered back, “Ada sure as hell is taking after dad.” Arthur added, eyeing how their kid sister was drunkenly shouting to one of the barmaids. 

 

‘Yeah and look who she’s dragged along’, Tommy thought to himself throwing a scowl to his speaker who happened to be having the time of her life, ‘she’s going to regret this in the morning.’ 

 

The evening passed excruciating slowly, Tommy had been forced to shake hands, toast glasses and did his best not to become caught up in an actual conversation. Luckily, the cocaine worked like a charm, the few lines made the evening more bearable. 

 

John had been talking to him for a while, his precious Ai glued to his side. Tommy didn’t recall much from the conversation and had been merely staring over his younger brother’s shoulder to spy on his speaker. 

  
She’d been asked to dance by a few Lee boy’s which she neatly declined and kept glued to Ada’s side, twirling on her feet. Every once in a while she’d tried to catch his gaze, which he stubbornly ignored. He was being a prick to her and he was fully aware of that fact. She honestly wasn’t doing anything to hurt him, but still her behaviour stung. She was having fun on her own, opening herself up to other people and experiencing things that are normal for her and those her age. 

  
It suddenly occurred to him that her Catholic mother wasn’t going to like any of this. And that he, eyeing the state his speaker was in, should be the one to drop her off home. Of course he could ask any of their men, but that was asking the cat to guard the cream. 

 

It was near midnight when he thought his speaker had enough fun and informed Arthur that he was walking her home. Arthur reminded him that he was the guest of honour but when he pointed at the swaying girl on the dance floor Arthur understood his point. 

  
“I’ll ask John to take Ada home in a few,” Arthur promised, aware his little sister had been throwing up in one of the huge porcelain vases. 

 

Tommy took the liberty to escort Maria off the dance floor by snatching her wrist, spinning her on her ridiculous heels and yanking her to the main exit. It was a weird re-enactment of their first night in the Shepherd, only this time she was drunk and her makeup was still intact.

  
_ Did you bring a jacket?  _ Tommy asked her, nearing the lobby.

  
Maria looked puzzled, shrugged and reached for her tiny purse to see if it was still there. 

  
_ You didn’t bring a jacket or you don’t know _ ? Tommy pressed agitated. 

  
“I don’t know,” Maria murmured, eyes drifting over the large amount of intoxicated people surrounding her, “is that man alright?” 

  
Tommy looked over his shoulder to see one of the Lee boys slowly but steadily sink down on one of the marble pillars, snoring on his way to the floor.  One of his mates was pissing against one of their exotic plants. 

  
Ignoring the two lads, Tommy took an empty glass from one of the silver trays and shoved it into Maria’s hand. He pointed to the door of the ladies room.

  
_ Go take a piss, drink a glass of water. Don’t take anything anyone’s offering you _ , he ordered her firmly and supported her until she reached the door. 

 

‘Fucking great’, Tommy thought, this was exactly what he wanted to do on his first night out. Babysitting his smashed speaker. 

 

While she was hopefully drinking something aside from alcohol, he made his way towards the lobby and got his jacket. On his way back Maria had to use the door handle of the ladies room to stay on her feet and caught a lot of prying eyes. 

  
Once more Tommy made it very clear that she was with him and not to be touched. Like a true gentleman, he swung his jacket over her shoulders, giving all spectators a very meaningful glare and escorted the pair of them into the endless streets of Small Heath. 

 

“I’m fine,” she stated, though physically showing the complete opposite: drunk off her socks and nearly cross eyed, “I can walk myself home.” 

  
_ Of course you can _ , he signed to her, keeping a firm grip on her shoulder as she staggered along. She pouted like a small child not getting what they wanted and remained silent for a while.

  
Tommy couldn’t help but smirk, he was never going to let her forget about this evening. Little holy Mary, wasted on her first night out. 

  
_ Your mother is going to love this _ , he stated.

  
“She’s asleep,” Maria retorted, “fast asleep,” she continued when he gave her a stern look, “I slipped her one of those sleeping pills you refused to take from when we were at the hospital. Doctor Rivers was right, they work miracles. It was Ada’s idea,” she explained when he raised his eyebrows. 

  
He was going to have a serious conversation with his little sister in the morning. And with his speaker too, once was regained her senses. 

  
He noticed something different about her when he took out a cigarette and she asked for one. Surprised, he watched her light the tip and inhale gracefully without getting caught in a coughing fit. 

  
“Ada taught me how to smoke, like a proper lady,” she explained with a smug grin forming around her cigarette as she caught his gaze. Retaining eye contact, she inhaled again and slowly allowed the smoke to escape through her nostrils.

  
Maybe it was the way she watched him, with a fresh flush on her cheeks, or how she hooked her arm around his. But there was something, tension? He wasn’t sure what word to give the changing atmosphere. 

  
Maybe it was simply the fact that mere minute ago they’d been in a club where sex and lust were for the taking. Or that he’d been horny ever since he snorted his second line of coke and had been craving for any kind of feminine physical attention for weeks.  

  
He sighed, he needed to get laid. Once he got back to the Shepherd, he’d order up that brunette prostitute he’d had his eyes on the first night he’d been there. That would take the edge off. 

  
The whole way home he firmly told himself she was just being drunk, clumsy and far too naive to purposely portray such flirtatious behaviour. It was the gin that made her whisper stupid little things in his ear; he could smell it on her breath. It also made the tiny hairs on his neck stand up and stir something inside his abdomen. 

 

When they  _ finally _ reached her apartment she pulled him in close and pressed her index finger on his lips.

  
“We have to be quiet, mum is out but April and May are light sleepers,” she whispered to him, awkwardly trying to fiddle her keys into the lock. She failed miserably. Tommy sighed, snatched the keys from her and jammed them into the lock in one swift motion. 

  
Maria clumsy hurried inside and he slowly followed her into the dark narrow hallway. Without sight, she found her way into her bedroom, miraculously not making a sound. 

  
Tommy closed his eyes, not familiar with the surroundings and gave his sight a moment to adjust to the darkness. 

  
Reopening them, he noticed her observing him from afar; she’d reached her bedroom and stood in the doorway. 

 

Was she waiting for him? 

  
There were some soft murmurs coming out from the other bedroom. It would be very inconvenient to have either April or May to find him at their doorstep and instinctively he withdrew into her bedroom. Closing the door, he turned around and she was just inches away. 

  
For the record, he was horny and in the cramped up bedroom of a scarcely dressed young woman. It didn’t matter that it was Maria; maybe it was even worse because it was Maria.

  
Being just a man, an inarticulate grunt came from the back of his throat. The way her hair caught in front of her eyes, challenging him to touch, wasn’t helping. He needed space. 

 

When he placed her firmly down onto the bed, she didn't make any attempt to take off her high heels. No, she flipped down on her back and rubbed her hands over her eyes, yawning followed with a drunken hiccup. 

 

She wasn't helpful and clearly not in a state to do anything on her own. 

 

Tommy needed to get going though, the party was reaching its peak and he was the guest of honour, he couldn't disappear for too long. It would offend Zilpha and her Lee boys. 

That and he really needed to _ go _ , at least leave her bedroom. Because her flirtatious behaviour and clinginess along the way home were tearing him apart. She probably didn't mean anything by it and she clearly was drunk off her socks. 

 

But he was just a man and he was craving any kind of physical attention, her attention to be specific. He didn’t know when that feeling started, but he knew it sparked up right after his miserable appointment at the hospital. He’d been gutted to realise he wouldn’t be able to speak and she’d been there, by his side. She told him things he really needed to hear and she didn’t pity him.  Her hands had been so soft and gentle, touching the side of his temple, completely aware that was the root of his heartache. Those scars didn’t seem to matter to her, didn’t evoke the loathing and disgust like they did to him. 

  
In his head, that had been the start of a  _ maybe _ .

 

He'd been pushing away that possibility because it would be a mistake, it wouldn't be right and it could never work. He was her employer, he had the complete upper hand and she was… well, holy Mary. He couldn't destroy the last bit of her purity, just for his sake.

 

So he'd forced himself to ignore those cravings, be civil and keep her at a distance.

 

Which was very hard now that he sat on his knees, beside her bed while she was making all those soft little noises. 

 

She needed to ditch Ada's clothes, if her mum sees these it would be quite clear what she'd been doing. 

 

Their eyes locked when he pulled her back into a sitting position. He did not like what he saw. Lust, wonder, but all because she was intoxicated and couldn't think clearly. She'd never in her right mind dropped any hints. And he'd been a master at reading women, so what he saw right now, was just the booze talking. And it pained him, because this was what he wanted right here and right now. But it was the wrong thing to do and would leave her damaged and heartbroken in the morning. 

 

_ Change, _ he ordered her, handing her nightgown. She took it, giggling and tried to lift it over her head. 

 

Tommy rolled his eyes, cursing Ada for getting her in this state and mind set. He ripped the fabric out of her hand and pointed at her chest.

 

Her eyes followed his motion and she giggled again when she realised she was still wearing the damn flapper dress. 

 

Her fingers made a lousy attempt to unzip the back of her dress but she failed miserably. With pouty lips she intensely stared back at him. 

 

It was clear what she wanted from him and right now he blamed her for making it impossible for him to think clearly. Blood was running to a place down south instead of his brain, so to speak. 

 

The tension inside her tiny bedroom was thick, smothering and intoxicating. To allow himself to breath he jerked his tie loose and stared at her while he took hold of her ankle to take off her heel. 

 

If she'd given him any form of protest, discomfort or distress he would have stopped. But she didn't and nudged the tip of her heel against his chest to make him continue. 

 

Fuck, kneeling in front of her made it very easy for his eyes to roam over her body and in her current pose it was very easy to see everything. He was able to stare over her stockings and underneath her dress as she dropped her leg and kicked her first shoe underneath her bed. 

 

"Hey, no peeking," she uttered softly and cheekily, pulling her other heel against his chest and playfully nudging his collarbone. 

 

Oh, she shouldn't be doing this and he shouldn't be doing this.

In her current state she probably wouldn't remember anything in the morning, that thought crossed his mind when he rid her of her other heel. 

 

He swallowed a lump, eyes lingering over her delicate features and he was very aware how tight his trousers had become.

 

The thing was, he would. He _ would _ remember everything and he'd be reminded of what an absolute bastard he'd been every time she looked at him. With her naive pretty eyes, beaming with trust. Because she trusted him, at some point cared for him and he couldn't simply take that away, all because he happened to be a horny dog. 

 

She shifted on the bed, turning halfway to give him perfect access to her dress.

 

Fuck, didn't she know that this was foreplay; that it was turning him on? 

 

He needed to swallow again, but the lump in his throat remained. With tense fingers he unzipped her dress, taking his time to let his fingertips wonder over the revealing skin. 

 

She didn't seem to notice or didn't seem to mind. Her head was lulling from side to side and her eyes were half closed. She was going to be so hungover and sick in the morning. 

 

Since the princess wasn't performing any task on her own he nudged her arms up and started to pull up her dress. Her hips jerked up to allow him to pull the dress over her head. 

 

Allowing himself to ravage his eyes over her body, he took a moment to throw the dress underneath the bed and picked up her nightgown. 

 

Tossing it into her lap, he made an attempt to get up from his knees and do the right thing, leave. 

 

But instead of her doing the one fucking thing she needed to be doing, her fingertips twined themselves around the collar of his shirt. 

 

"Don't go," her pouty lips muttered with a drunken haze. 

 

Christ, he was just a man. In defeat, he looked at her puckered lips, red from the ridiculous amount of lipstick his little sister had provided. Her lips were slightly ajar and he noticed her tongue playing behind her pretty white teeth. 

 

And then there was the complete lack of clothes. She wore a padded bralette with a matching white slip. 

 

White, of course she wore white. He was very aware she watched him watch her and it wasn't right. 

 

With his last bit of decency he pulled his collar loose from her fingers and planned to go back to the Shepherd and drink himself into oblivion because in the morning he'd be kicking himself for doing the right thing.

 

She kissed him and he froze. 

 

His mind honestly took three seconds to register her lips touching his and then it finally clicked and all chivalry flew out of the window.

 

He grabbed her jaw and forced himself closer. He didn't care that he might be hurting her as he kissed back forcefully and dominating her. Screwing his eyes shut, he took her mouth with his and claimed her. She'd been doing things to him the entire night, unintentionally or intentionally. He didn't care anymore, he wanted this, needed this and everything she offered he was more than willing to take.

 

But he shouldn't. It pained him, plagued him because the soft sounds she was making, the squirming of her body against his, told him she wanted this too. 

 

'She's drunk, she doesn't know what she really wants', he told himself and with pain in his heart, created distance, so he could breathe. 

 

Without looking at her, he got up from the floor and picked her nightgown from the bed. 

 

"Tommy?" Her voice was breaking, pleading and he watched her, stare up at him intently. Her lips were swollen and her lipstick was smudged, had he been that rough? 

 

Quietly, he rubbed his own lips, the back of his hand stained with the same bright ruby red as her lips. 

 

_ Get dressed, go to sleep,  _ he ordered her, throwing her nightgown onto her lap for the second time tonight. He needed to  _ go _ , because he didn't trust himself anymore. 

 

Without giving her a second glance, he marched out of her bedroom and headed back to the party. He was the guest of honour, after all.

  
  


.-.-.

 

**A/N: APPLAUSE! They kissed! TADA! I think this is my personal record for postponing anything remotely romantic in a slow-burn. Adding to that, I think I’ve only dug a very deep hole; by the way I made them kiss.**

 

**I’m very eager/dying to read what you, as the reader, think of this chapter. I haven’t written many ‘first drunken kisses in your bedroom with your mute handsome employer’ yet, so share me your thoughts.**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**


	34. Post drunk regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Alcohol is the devil’s drink’, Maria thought and swore to herself to never do this again.

**A/N I’ve listened a lot to ‘Broken Crown’ from Mumford and sons, enjoy :)**

 

 

.-.-.

 

Maria woke up with a one way ticket to the bathroom. In there, she releashed herself from the remains of alcohol in the most unflattering manner. For once, she was glad for the shortness of her hair, as she hunched over the toilet and with effort and force emptied her stomach. 

 

She’d never felt this sick in her life. On all fours, she wondered if her family would be able to get a doctor in time, or if she was going to die right then and there. 

  
Through the pool of blurred recollection, Maria was able to put some pictures from her memory frame back together. This was a hangover and although she was a rookie on the subject, she labeled it a severe one.  

  
How on earth could anyone stand being in this state? Let alone, choose to do it over and over again?

  
Maria’s fingers gripped around the porcelain of the toilet seat and hurled again. Nothing more than bile spattered down into the water. 

 

‘Alcohol is the devil’s drink’, Maria thought and swore to herself to never do this again. 

  
“Are you dying?” April cautiously asked, leaning over her shoulder, intrigued by her older sister’s moaning.

 

‘I might be’, Maria thought and wiped the last bit of lipstick from her mouth. “No, I’m not.” She reassured her sibling. The young girl nodded and tottered off, only to return in a blink of an eye with a cup of water. 

  
“The silent man said you needed to drink this, lots.” April told her in a teacher-tone. 

  
Reaching for the cup, Maria rubbed her blood shot eyes, the thumping headache getting the best of her. 

  
“Are you having bad dreams again?” Maria muttered, keeping her voice as low as possible, because every sound seemed to drum down on her already aching head. 

  
“I’m not, he woke me up making noise in the hallway. He told me to stay quiet and not tell mum I saw him at the house in the middle of the night. Will you get in trouble if I do?” April asked rapidly. 

  
Maria didn’t like her young sister’s deviant grin, not for a bit. April’s words slowly started to sink in and seep into the dark puddle of last night’s blur. 

  
“Hold on, was Tommy here last night?” She asked softly, this time not just to keep her headache to the minimal. 

  
“Ah, yes that’s his name!” April screeched, “Mum doesn’t like him, not for a bit. She says he’s a fibber. I told him too, he thought it was funny, said mum’s a smart woman,” April babbled on, unaware of the seriousness within her words, “he looked eerie though, face all red and eyes all wrong. Did he get you sick?” 

  
‘No, I have his sister to thank for that’, Maria thought downing her cup and refilling it by the sink. 

 

“So how angry will mum be if she finds out?” April pressed again, fidgeting with her fingers. 

 

Maria glared at her sister, not impressed by her hints of blackmail: “tell mum and I will buzz off your hair.” 

 

April’s forehead grew into frown; crossing her arms she puckered her lips: “you would not.”

  
“I will, if you tell mum,” Maria drew back, taking a strand of her short hair between her fingers, “you’ll look just like me!” 

  
That threat seemed to do the trick, at least for now. April weighed out her options and moped. 

  
“Fine,” she zipped her lips, “Tommy told me to tell you to take the morning off, ‘cause you’d be sick. He needs you at the bakery at Bethram’s road around three; can you buy us some custard tarts please?” 

  
A new wave of nausea swept Maria off her feet and back over to the toilet. 

  
Disgusted by her older sister’s violent vomiting, April scrunched up her nose and fled from their tiny bathroom. 

 

Left alone, Maria moaned and held her head between her hands, damn, why did she trust Ada, who’d reassured her that having a drink or two would loosen her up? In retrospect, if she’d kept it down to a few drinks she probably wouldn’t feel like dying. 

  
Everything that happened after her fourth or fifth drink was a blur. There had been loud, up beat music and she’d nearly sprained her ankle, dancing on Ada’s preposterous high heels. She’d felt frisky and alive, in the moment and making merry. For a good few hours she hadn’t been overthinking and worrying, the tightness around her throat loosened. For a good few hours, she was allowed to be young and carefree and she’d loved every minute of it. 

  
Now she was paying the prize for her jovial night out.

 

She managed to run herself a bath. Sourly she scrubbed off the remains of makeup clinging to her face and ridded herself from the smell of alcohol that leaked from her pores. 

  
Cautiously taking a few sips of water, she suddenly realised that there was a puzzle piece missing. How did she get home last night? Well, she knew how, because her sister had seen Tommy leave. But the booze had cut a hole in her memory. She couldn’t remember much; and almost nothing from their walk back home. 

  
After half an hour, Maria felt brave enough to rise from her bath; the water had turned lukewarm anyways. Leaving her nightgown cluttered on the floor, she wrapped herself in a towel. The fabric felt rough around her body and a shiver ran up her spine now that she was deprived of warmth. 

  
Her mother was still fast asleep and a twinge of guilt made her halt at her mum’s side. 

 

‘Those sleeping pills do work miracles,’ Maria made no move to wake her mum. The poor state she was in might give something away and she was sick and tired of being in a constant battle with her mother. 

  
Her bedroom stank; clearly she’d gotten sick during her sleep. Her pillowcase was ruined and with a scrunched up lip, she threw the thing into the trash. Her two sisters giggled, peeking around their door as she snarled at them to mind their own business. 

  
Dropping the towel to the floor, Maria kicked aside Ada’s heels and sank to her knees to pick up Ada’s dress from underneath her bed. A good thing her mum hadn’t seen it, with such a short length and showing cleavage. Ada loved those flapper dresses, but it had made her feel uncomfortable, available and cheap. She didn’t want to be any of those things. 

 

Around mid-afternoon, Maria dared to say she returned to the land of the sober. Her mother had woken up from her hibernation and made a late lunch. The smell of eggs and bacon was enough to send her back into the bathroom, hugging the toilet. When her mum asked her if she was alright she made up an excuse about a stomach flu outbreak. 

  
She’d managed to choke down a piece of dry toast and empty a cup of earl grey. Her stomach tightened once she realised she’d be heading to a bakery in a few minutes.

  
Contemplating on murdering her little sisters or not for making such head splitting noise, she picked up her tiny purse from the floor along with her borrowed items that she’d hidden inside a large brown paper bag. 

  
The walk to the bakery was excruciating, out of all days the sun had chosen to shine down upon the murky streets of Small Heath, it had to be today. Hiding her face underneath the rim of her bucket hat, she managed to stagger inside the shop. 

  
A small bell rang cheerfully when she entered, causing her to moan. Those who were of the Shelby clan paused their conversation and looked over at her. Polly and John stiffly acknowledged her poor presence, but Arthur sniggered loudly, clenching down a hand roughly on her shoulder.  

  
“Bit of a rough start love?” He joked. “Must have learned a valuable lesson last night.”

  
“I shall never drink again,” Maria promised sincerely and nauseous, “never.” Bringing the paper bag to her chest as she feared she was going to be sick all over the bakery’s floor.  

  
The bell rang again and Tommy welcomed them with a questioning low grunt. His state was reflectively worse than Maria’s. He looked as if a train had hit him and dragged him along for half a mile. Wearing the same suit as last night indicated he hadn’t slept and hadn’t bothered to change. A smell of old cigarette smoke, sweat and whiskey hung around him like a curtain and his right hand twitched slightly, hanging in the sling. 

  
“Jesus Tom, did you sleep in a ditch?” Polly remarked unapprovingly. 

 

“Oi Tom, you obviously had a busy night,” Arthur joked, pointing at Tommy’s collar. A smear of red lipstick stained the brim of his white neckband. 

 

Tommy awkwardly reached for the thin fabric and noticed the red print on his fingertips.

  
Maria could feel her stomach violently turn and this time it had nothing to do with her hangover. The moment Arthur addressed Tommy’s stained collar, Ada’s lipstick seemed to be burning a hole inside her tiny purse.

 

While watching Tommy spot the inevitable detail of last nights, recollections of her blurred memory started to flare up. Her bedroom, her bed, his scent, his touch, the closeness, her lack of clothes. Her lips on his. Kissing him. 

 

She kissed him. Last night  _ she _ kissed  _ him _ . 

  
The brown paper bag slipped through her hands and dropped on the floor. 

  
Cold hands seemed to close around her throat and she couldn’t breathe properly. Nausea took her breath away and nearly swept her off her feet. 

 

Unable to look at Tommy, Maria hunched forward barely able to keep herself from retching. Through her lashes, she noticed Arthur turning towards her. 

  
“Everything alright lass?” He asked with a snigger, aware of her post drunken state. 

  
“Just need some fresh air,” she managed to whisper and quickly fled the scene. 

  
In the alley behind the bakery, Maria ridded herself of the poor breakfast she’d managed to eat. Shaken, she sank to her knees, wiping her mouth and spitting bitterly on the floor. God she felt sick, her head was thumping madly and the shards of memories from last night twirled inside her mind in a constant motion. 

 

How on earth was she going to face Tommy after this? With all the anger she could muster she threw Ada’s lipstick across the alley and wished for a hole in the ground to swallow her whole. 

Before she had any chance to figure out a way to face her employer, Tommy walked into the ally. 

 

Completely aware of his approaching presence, she watched his expensive Oxfords’ halt right in front of her. 

 

She’d rather die than face him and so she ignored him for as long as she could, which wasn’t fair because as long as she kept her gaze down he was unable to communicate with her. 

  
It didn’t take her more than a few seconds to postpone the inevitable,  _ facing him _ . 

  
He went down on his knees, sighed and slowly raised her chin.

  
Forced to make eye contact, she noticed how his red rimmed eyes were full of concern.    
With his jaw slightly ajar, he appeared less like his normal, assured, no-nonsense self. 

 

In an almost fragile way, he took off his trademark flat cap and lowered the piece of attire to the ground. 

 

Leaning forward on his knees he scanned her face, observing ever hint of her dread. 

  
Letting go of her chin he signed:  _ Are you alright _ ? 

  
That questioned startled her even more, because she’d expected him to be angry or offended by her outrageous behaviour. Anything but this. Meeting those icy blue eyes, all calm and collected, looking straight into hers. She didn’t deserve to be treated this way, with dignity and respect. It frightened her because he was close, again. And he’d just touched her, again.

 

Overwhelmed, she stiffly nodded her head: “I’m fine,” she answered, bowing her head back towards his feet. 

  
As a reflex, Tommy reached forwards to recapture her gaze. His eyes drilled into hers, catching every bit of her hesitance. 

 

_ I meant about last night _ , he signed, being profoundly close. 

 

Maria panicked, because she knew he  _ knew _ . And the simple thought of realising anyone beside her knew she was capable of being so provocative scared her to death. The toxicity of alcohol must have deprived her from her morals and self-respect, throwing the sense right out of her mind.  

  
That was what she was going to say if anyone ever found out about the night she wished to forget. 

 

Because those brief moments, locked away from the rest of the world in her cramped, dark bedroom, marked her. The moment she’d leaned forward to press her lips upon his, made her into the vile creature her Uncle warned her family about. A harlot. A whore. A gypsy slut. 

  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied through her teeth, unable to meet his gaze she crawled up, in desperate need of increasing her personal space. 

 

A cold, low chuckle escaped the back of Tommy’s throat and he shook his head. Abruptly, he stepped back on his feet, flaring his nostrils. 

  
Fright fluttered inside Maria’s chest as his hands formed into white-knuckled weapons. For a brief moment she feared that he was going to hit her and subconsciously she braced herself for whatever kind of fury was coming. 

  
But when she finally managed to meet his eyes, Tommy had managed to morph his face into a state of complete indifference. The sudden hostility veiled behind a frown of callousness.

  
_ Go home, sleep off your hangover, I don’t need you today.  _

 

With a scowl, Tommy stomped back towards the bakery, leaving her startled and shaking. 

 

.-.-.   


Tommy hadn’t bothered to look at her twice the moment he walked out of the ally. She could die and rot between the filth, for all he cared. With her holier-than-thou stance and innocent doe-eyes. Bullshit, she was Satan in a Sunday hat, that’s what she was. 

 

And now that little bitch dared to act like nothing had happened last night, in her bedroom. 

 

_ Fuck _ , his lips silently breathed.  _ Fuck _ , why did she have to do that? She kissed him, she fucking kissed him. And he just let her, because he wanted her. Had it been his intention to get her so drunk?  _ Fuck _ , he should have left the moment he jammed her keys into the lock and shoved her into her apartment. Why did he need to follow her inside, why had he gone into her bedroom? He’d taken her fucking clothes off; he’d reacted to all her flirtatious hints and allowed her to kiss him. 

  
Why did he allow her to make him weak? 

 

_ Because you are _ , his father’s venomous words echoed from afar,  _ you’re weak _ ,  _ useless, nothing.  _

  
Tommy froze in front of Polly’s bakery. Cursing himself he closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against the wooden frame. 

  
In all honesty, could he blame her for lying? 

  
Last night, after he closed the apartment door behind him, he had walked straight back to the Shepherd. Inside, he immediately retreated to the men’s room to inspect his face. With a few splashes of water, he’d rid himself of the last specks of lipstick from his lower lip and chin. Leaning heavily onto the sink, he’d thrown his head down and chuckled coldly at the miserable state he was in. Tommy Shelby; thrown completely out of balance because of a kiss. What a fucking joke. 

  
The worst thing was, it wasn’t about that small spark of physical interaction. 

 

No, the undeniable knife that stabbed deep into his heart was the fact that she meant something to him. And for about a minute he thought that maybe, just  _ maybe, _ he meant something to her too. 

 

It was that deteriorated  _ maybe, hope _ that someone might considered him worthy enough to be loved. 

 

He’d wished that maybe she’d think he was good enough. Because he sure as hell didn’t. Damaged, handicapped, mute, traumatized, he had an entire entourage of bad qualities. With a crippling tendency to destroy bits and piece of himself, because if he’d dare to face himself in the mirror he’d tell his reflection he hated every inch of him. 

  
Tommy straightened his back and fought down the urge to punch holes in the wall. Life simply dealt him a poor set of cards and all he could do was shrug it off and make the best out of it. That was his life, downtrodden from the start, but too stubborn to fully break. 

 

In a blink of an eye, he buried the  _ maybe _ ten feet below the ground, stomped down on its grave and took a piss upon it. That door was closed from now on and he wouldn’t allow himself to ever act upon it again. 

 

Polly gave him a grand tour through their bakery, showing off the workplace. Tommy was introduced to Mr. Thaddeus Wilkins, the old man humbly thanked him for giving him his job and assured both Tommy as Polly he wouldn’t let them down. The shop-part of the bakery actually looked believable. The window was full with pastries and had a variety of bread on display. Jeremiah’s kid honestly seemed content to be a cashier and while Polly showed Tommy the shelves with fresh herbs and sugar, Scudboat’s kid was sweeping the floor. It visually gave Polly pride to boss and fuss everyone around, meddling with the prizes and snapping at Arthur to keep his bloody fingers out of the batter. 

  
The two young Blinders marked all the flour sacks containing cocaine and kept it stored inside a secret storage room at the garret. Mr. Thaddeus’ poor back prevented him from walking upstairs and so couldn’t possibly mix up the bags. The customers, who were aware of the little extra ‘dough’ they could buy, were handed sliced bread with little bags hidden in between the slices. 

  
Scudboat’s kid proudly showed their automatic bread-slicing machine, it was the only one in their district. Polly bragged about a huge order of cocaine and how she was planning to hide it inside a layer cake. If anyone were to raise questions, they could simply explain that they were making wedding cakes as well. 

 

“Well Tom, what do ya think?” Arthur questioned, earning a fierce nudge in the ribs when Polly detected his moustache covered with batter. 

  
The absence of his speaker left a bad taste in his mouth. Unable to express his approval made him feel incompetent and incomplete. He should congratulate his aunt, because the bakery certainly reached up to his high expectations. 

  
Crushed, he gave his aunt a stiff thumbs up and removed himself from the bakery, in desperate need for some fresh air and a cigarette. 

  
“Jesus, what got his knickers in a twist?” He overheard Arthur mutter annoyed right before he stepped onto the streets. 

  
Striking a match, he lit a cigarette and inhaled the pungent smoke deeply. Fuck it, he was going to get laid. Last night, in a rush of drunken oblivion he’d booked the brunette prostitute. She’d been eager to serve one of the Shelby men, who changed their poor working conditions drastically. He’d followed her endless fishnet covered legs upstairs and indulged himself with another line of coke while she gave him a little striptease show. Her lips had turned into a cheeky ‘o’ as she dropped her lace bra at his feet. Holding her large teardrop bosom up with her hands she straddled down onto his lap and whispered to him softly all the things she could do for him. 

  
It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and a shiver run up his spine. But it wasn’t her heated promises of how good she was going to make him feel, that brought him back in a state of alertness. It was the way her breath tickled the sensitive area of his neck that made it occur to him that less than an hour ago Maria had been by his side. 

  
The brunette had been unaware of his dilemma, with fine manicured nails she’d started to unbutton his trousers. Boldly, she slid her hand underneath the fabric of his underwear and Tommy threw his head up to the heavens. There must be a bastard up there mocking him, because there was a pretty little piece of ass working absolute magic with her hands and he simply couldn’t enjoy it. The tips of his lips still seemed to burn. 

  
He broke it off. Last night he could have had a more than enjoyable fuck, but he didn’t. He’d pushed the brunette from his lap, silently put some money on the nightstand and booked a hotel room somewhere in town to drown himself in Whiskey. 

  
Yesterday there had been a  _ maybe _ . His mother once told him: never to hold onto something if you know it’s no longer there. She’d meant his father and he’d flat out laughed at her for saying that. 

  
But now, he’d take his mother’s words to heart and headed for the Chinese brothel to see if Ai had a sister ready for a pity fuck. 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: Isn’t it wonderful how it took me 33 chapter to merge a twinge of romance into the story and in less then a chapter swipe that all away? Yes, as a reader I would hate me too. But honestly, what fun is it if they would live happily ever after? This isn’t the Disney section and there is an empire to be built.** ****  
**  
** **It might be a nice thing to add, I’ve written the major part of this chapter with a hangover myself, it worked like a charm.**

 

**Cheers and please do share how this chapter makes you feel.**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

  
  
  



	35. Suck it Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In short, clench your teeth suck it up and eventually he’ll let you off the hook.”

 

 

.-.-.

 

  
Maria had never been behind the fabric border that split Watery Lane into two before. It dawned on her where all the buzz and voices came from during the daytime as she stepped behind the curtains. A few Blinder men were already working and side-eyed her as she slowly walked towards Tommy's office. Facing her employer had been keeping her up all night. 

 

During the dark hours her mind kept drifting, fixing their drunken kiss in a picture frame, over and over. She was able to push all emotions out of her memory, his overwhelming closeness, her wanton reaction towards his body heat and touch. Her mind won over her heart, because she couldn’t bear to allow herself to feel. 

  
It was wrong, it shouldn’t have happened. That wasn’t like her, pressing her lips onto his, asking for more. It had been the alcohol, the blur of living in the moment, Ada’s bad influence. 

 

Whatever it was, she wasn’t to blame. 

  
For some reason she felt tainted, dirtier than she felt during her first night at the Shepherd, in which Tommy forced her down like the whore she’d surely be turned into if he hadn’t saved her. During that night, those minutes of raw body contact, heat and touch, he’d been the one taking action. Tommy had taken initiative, with no other agenda than to teach her an important lesson. It had been physical no-doubt, but without any lust or need. 

 

Unlike the events that happened in her bedroom.   

  
The worst part was Tommy  _ knew _ she’d been lying yesterday in the ally. She’d seen it in his eyes, loathing. 

 

Halfheartedly she wished she’d been honest and had begged for his forgiveness. Use all the excuses she could think of, blame the alcohol, blame Ada, blame this damned city. At least then, she’d been able to plead that maybe he could forget her outrageous behavior. 

 

But now she was a slut  _ and _ a lair. Tommy had all the right to loathe and despise her. 

 

She expected him to fire her on the spot, which was why she was taking so long to reach his office. He could kick her and her family out of their home in a blink of an eye; he wouldn’t even need to get his hands dirty, John would gladly do it for him. 

 

“Polly said you needed me at your office,” Maria muttered, awkwardly fidgeting in the doorway.     
Tommy’s dark mood was still full on display. Slouched in a chair, the pen he was twirling between his fingers paused. He looked ragged, even though he’d donned himself in a fresh outfit. Impatiently, he motioned for her to sit down in front of his desk. While doing so, he kept their eye contact to a minimal, staring back down at the pile of papers. 

  
Maria dug her fingernails into her palms, this was worse than yesterday.  She partially wished that he would drag her over the desk and slap her across the face, spit on her just like her uncle Walter had done and tell her to never set foot in his house again. Anything was better than just sitting there and waiting for the inevitable to happen. 

  
With a one way ticket to the poorhouse gnawing at the back of her mind, Tommy took her completely by surprise when he nudged his head towards a typewriter and signed:  _ Do you know how to use with that _ ?

  
“I’ve typed some pages at our local church before a Sunday service once or twice,” she answered apprehensively. 

  
_ I’ll take that as a yes _ , Tommy signed with his gaze down casted towards the papers,  _ type this over twice, no mistakes and bound by the end of the day.  _

_   
_ Before she had time to respond, Tommy tossed the pile of papers in front of her. 

  
“These are notes from your medical file,” Maria blurted shocked as Tommy started to get up from his chair. 

  
Tommy tsked and reached for his coat, ignoring her statement. Drumming his fingers on the papers, he pulled the thick fabric of his coat over his shoulders. 

  
_ I don’t pay you to ask questions, two copies, no mistakes, bound by the end of the day _ . 

Looking passed her, he dropped a letter on top of the pile,  _ I need this posted before this afternoon _ . 

  
Maria’s eyes flickered from her newly assigned desk up to her employer in a fruitless attempt to read his face. Nothing more than a dark cloud of skepticism met her gaze. 

 

_ Unless you’ve got any wild plans, we’re going to Amsterdam next week _ , Tommy bluntly informed her. 

  
“Amsterdam?!” Maria exclaimed, feeling her blood run cold, “why in the world do you need to go to Amsterdam?”

  
But Tommy had already walked passed her, uninterested in answering her question or wave her goodbye. 

 

.-.-.

 

It didn’t come to surprise when Ada pushed herself into view the moment Maria left Watery Lane. The sassy young woman announced she needed to go shopping for fabrics and could use a hand, because she wasn’t the type of girl who did the heavy lifting all by herself. 

 

This, of course, was a direct order wrapped in a little finesse. 

  
The shopping took less time than Maria thought it would and with hardly a basket full of scarves and thin silk, Ada stated that they could use a break. 

  
Their break turned out to be a late afternoon coffee break. 

  
“Order whatever you want, my treat,” Ada cheered, sinking down onto a wooded booth, “take a muffin too, you seem like the type of girl who has a sweet tooth.” The Shelby girl ran her eyes over the menu, “I can also recommend the sponge cake or lemon-” 

  
“-Ada, why are we here and why are you being so nice to me?” Maria interrupted her tablemate and earned a scoff, “we both know we’re not friends, not really.”

  
Ada became uncharacteristically quiet and scrunched up her nose. 

  
“It’s because of Polly right?” Maria pressed, knowing that her words had such clear effect, “she hates me and doesn’t trust me. Once we’re done talking here, you’ll go straight to her and report every word that came out of my mouth.”

  
Ada’s silence spoke volumes. With a piercing stare and her trademark pout she muttered: “And I thought you were too gullible.”  

  
“I was, but I’m a fast learner,” Maria retorted briefly, “if I may be so blunt. You are a Shelby by blood; no-one in this city is foolish enough to get cross with you. But me, I’m a working-girl with a deaf mother and two younger sisters. I don’t matter at all. And my family is an easy target. All I have is the title of being Tommy Shelby’s speaker. If I lose that, I’ll lose  _ everything _ . I was on Tommy’s good side,” she gulped; her throat felt bone dry because she knew what was at stake and how easily it was to screw everything up, “you ruined that for me Ada. Because you got me drunk and made me make a complete fool of myself.”

  
Reading Ada’s face, she noticed the deep crease between the other girl’s brows. Underneath the table, she clasped her hands together and silently begged that Ada wouldn’t start asking questions.   
  
“So please, help me fix it.” 

 

The guilt ridden girl frowned deeper and seemed uncomfortable by the blame that had been laid upon her shoulders. Maria thanked the lord Ada didn’t ask her  _ how _ exactly she made a fool out of herself as the young woman started to speak: “Alright, alright, I’ll help you out, but just this once,” Ada caved in, “Polly will murder me in cold blood if she finds out I’m helping you out. So see this as a business arrangement, since we both agree Tommy is our main concern.” A moan frustration escaped the back of Ada’s throat as she raised her index finger.

  
“First lesson of my class on ‘how to deal with Tommy Shelby’ do not address the subject,” she dramatically tapped her index finger on the tip of Maria’s nose, “let him simmer, let him gut you to the bone, but whatever you do, don’t try to be a civil human being and press him into communicating. Once he feels like he’s treated you like shit long enough, you’ll be off the hook. He won’t  _ forget  _ nor  _ forgive _ , his pride won’t allow that. But he’ll act like nothing ever happened and pick back up from where it started before you fucked it up. That’s how my dearest older brother works and pigs will fly before he changes.” 

  
Maria was taking in every word, “And how long will I be treated poorly?”

  
“A day, a week, a year, a decade,” Ada summed up, “depending on his mood, the weather, the fucking stars for all I know. He’s my brother and I love him to death, but he’s the thickest of all of us. The complete opposite of an open book, he’s more of a diary with an iron padlock, stored inside a chest, locked up in a castle with a fire breathing dragon on guard, type of person. Don’t take it personal, it’s who he is and it’s how he deals with things.”

  
Ada’s cooperation seemed to reach its limits as she waved to a waitress. 

  
“In short, clench your teeth suck it up and eventually he’ll let you off the hook.” 

 

.-.-.

 

Tommy couldn’t recall the last time he’d spent so many hours at a brothel. Ai booked him one of her sisters, or cousins. Didn’t matter much, they all looked alike and to him they only fulfilled one purpose. Sex, a meaningless pity fuck to get the edge off, get some tension out of his system. It worked, for both of them. He paid a random nameless Chinese git to lie on her back for half an hour so he could fuck every bit of his feelings away. And if that didn’t do the charm, there was the Whiskey at either the Garrison or the Shepherd. Or, if his raging meddling thoughts got the best of him, the pipe underneath his pillow. 

 

He hadn't used opium for a while, but needed the anesthetic bliss more and more. During the day, he was preoccupied with business, with his master plan ready to unfold. But the nights kept him up, because sleep meant dreams and dreams meant nightmares. He'd been able to cope with those; their impact hadn't made him piss his bed, or made him resort back to sleeping in the stables. 

 

But ever since Maria’s cold rejection, other memories had bubbled up to torture him. Alongside the shoveling inside his head, there were the voices of his mother and father, dwelling on about the fact that he wasn't good enough. Not worthy of love, affection. That he was nothing more than a worthless, mute son of a bitch. That his family thought this too, and only kept him around for his gift, to manage their business. 

 

In order to be the silent backbone of his family, he needed to be resourceful, cold hearted, swift and clear headed. He needed to be the complete opposite of the person he was at the core, a caretaker. His inherent skill of reading emotions was mainly used to target those who opposed them and use it to his advantage. 

 

It was what he was good at, reading and understanding people and tearing them apart strictly for profit. 

 

At this point, he figured that was all he was good for, the serpent of the family, ready to sink his teeth into someone's skin and letting his poison spread. 

 

Who, in their right mind, would want to be with a person whose main goal is to systematically manipulate the lives of others? He used to do that with words but when his voice failed him he picked himself up from the ground and coached other people to do the dirty work for him.

 

Yes, it was a great accomplishment that within a month, he was back in the game and their family business was booming. 

 

But at what cost? His aunt did not trust his judgement, he'd nearly started a gang war and he'd lost the one chance he had to sway the only woman in Small Heath who didn't see him as the handicapped offspring of Arthur Sr. 

 

But he'd clench his teeth, take the pain of losing and get back in the saddle, well get in between the thighs of a mediocre Chinese prostitute. Main thing was, he'd manage. He'd use everything in arms reach to keep his mind from drifting further apart, even if it meant he was back to using women and the pipe. And snow, whiskey and an occasional outburst of violence.

 

He'd force himself to keep going, pretend to be Arthur's advisor, while plotting out his masterpiece. It was the only thing he had going for himself, a legacy for his kin if he happened to go to sleep and never wake up. 

 

It was bearable to be around his speaker, because he forced himself to be heartless and disrespectful, to the point where he was throwing orders at her like she was nothing more than a working class git that happened to work for him. 

 

She took it all with a cautious downturned gaze and retorted back with a 'yes Mr. Shelby, no Mr. Shelby'. Her lack of words, submissive demeanor and silence made their relationship clear, he was her boss and she was merely his employee. 

 

It made him more at ease that she no longer acted like she cared for him. He'd routinely point out her flaws in her work, gave her shitty meaningless tasks that were clearly over her head and raged at her for fucking it up. He'd placed her out in the open, but in view of his office. He'd kept an eye on her, as she stared dazedly at the paperwork, biting on a pen, while her nails drummed nervously down on her desk. Polly was obviously cruel to her too, berating her for taking a break or bombarding her with equally shitty tasks, dropping down piles of paper to be ordered. If Tommy wasn’t making Maria’s days hard enough, Polly surely was.  

 

What made his skin crawl was the fact that she accepted her fate. She’d taken on the role as quiet of office assistant and allowed her superiors to trample her to the ground. 

  
Tommy briefly wondered why she accepted her role as a scapegoat, as he watched her being pushed aside by Polly for standing in her way. Files and papers fell onto the floor like leaves. Quickly, she kneeled down, picking up the mess she unintentionally made; ears red and knuckles white.

  
His eyes drifted off towards his aunt who was staring at the distressed young woman kneeling on the floor. Pol was obviously pleased with herself, her dark eyes smoldering with glee and satisfaction. 

 

For a moment, their eyes met as Maria got back on her feet, but he broke it off and turned back towards his papers. A long, deep sigh escaped the back of his throat as he rubbed his tired eyes. He shouldn’t allow his aunt to tear his speaker down, but he lacked the energy to get into an argument with her. Let her have her revenge on Maria, whatever grudge she held against the young woman, it might be good to let it all out. 

 

And he would be lying if he didn’t find some twisted kind of gratitude in Polly’s tyrannical behaviour. 

  
It wasn’t right, the way he handled her rejection, but he was like a dog with a bone, he couldn’t let this go. He also refused to allow her to see the wounds she ripped open. It didn’t stop the pus from oozing out. His lips seemed to burn every time he looked at her. Although the  _ maybe _ was fully dead and silenced, he couldn’t change what he wanted. 

 

.-.-.

 

“I’ve put all your files in alphabetical order,” Tommy’s head shot up from his desk and he banged his knees against the underside of his desk. 

  
Maria visibly shrank as she watched how she had startled her employer, “I’m sorry I’ve disturbed you, I just thought you’d like to know that I’m done with my tasks.” 

  
Tommy groaned, rubbing his hands over his aching kneecaps. His eyes fluttered down towards his pocket watch and he noticed that it was well past ten. He’d dozed off for more than two hours. He had hardly slept at night which was probably why his mind and body had started to take its toll. 

  
He groaned again, his limbs aching from being in such an awkward position. Stretching his back and arms, he noticed Maria’s pleading gaze.

 

“Can I go home now?” Her gaze passed him and fixated onto the window, “everyone else is gone, it’s rather late and I should have been home before dark.” 

  
Tommy copied her and stared out of the window. A moonless black night had fallen over Small Heath. 

  
Was he going to let her be a lamb heading for the slaughter house, or did a little bit of mercy still exist inside his black heart? 

  
_ I’ll walk you home _ , he signed with clear aversion. 

  
Maria cringed, “you don’t have to, I can walk by myself.” 

  
_ Like hell you will, at night you’re an easy target, _ without spilling another word, Tommy took his coat from the hall stand and motioned her towards the exit. 

  
The cold hit him like a fist to the face and he cursed the reverence he still held for the young woman.  The void between the pair of them was immense, although she was in arm’s reach. 

  
A few weeks ago, he’d been willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, die for her. It all felt like decades ago.  

  
“Can I please be excused from your trip to Amsterdam?” Maria hesitantly started, “I haven’t told my mum yet, I’ve tried to, but I know it’ll upset her tremendously. I’ve never been overseas and… I’m sure there is someone more suitable that can take my place.”

 

Tommy paused and Maria stopped behind him. Slowly he spun on his heels so he was facing her. 

 

Maria winced back as if she expected to be slapped in the face and that wound him up.

_ You do whatever I tell you to do and if you don’t, you and your gorger family can get the fuck out of my house _ , he informed her cold and vicious _ , next Friday you’ll be dressed up properly, with a suitcase for a weekend and expected at the ground floor of your apartment. There me and Arthur will pick you up at six and head towards Harwich.  _

 

“But what do I tell my mum? What if I get seasick?” Maria exclaimed dejectedly with panic-stricken hiccups in between her words. 

 

_ I don’t see how that’s any of my concern _ , Tommy informed her coldly,  _ now start walking, I’m taking you back to that pigsty you call home _ . 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N Well, the biggest asshole award goes to… and Polly is a good second. So our three musketeers are heading towards Amsterdam. Now what could possibly go wrong there, in the city of the damned? And in cause you’re wondering, no Tommy isn’t going to simply burst into the Cocainefabriek and demand a deal. No, of course not, he’s the man with a plan. Posh, policies, tact and well blunt lying lay within the future. Along with chaos, turmoil and possibly some events that might spark things back up.** ****  
**  
** **Next update might take some time, I’m off computer access for about a week.**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

  
  



	36. Amsterdamned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re selling out your brain damage to cut a deal,” Maria stated, flipping open the first page of his file.

 

.-.-.

 

For the rest of the week, Maria avoided him like the plague. In return, Tommy kept their communication level strictly in forms of orders. It scared him how natural it was for him to slip back into that cold and callous persona and how easily he brushed her rejection off. 

 

At six o’clock in the morning, Arthur picked up Maria’s dingy suitcase and stashed it into the back of their car with the others. 

 

Looking up into the sky, his Maria seemed to do a silent prayer before she slid inside their car. 

 

She managed to keep her breakfast in until they were installing themselves onto the deck of the ferry. The girl stood unsteadily on her feet, sweat pouring down her paling face and in a matter of seconds; she was feeding her breakfast to the seagulls.

 

Heaving, she clung to the rail of the ship and didn’t leave that post for half an hour. Arthur, the kinder of the two Shelby brothers’ managed to find her a bucket and pressed her down on a seat outside on deck. Ordering her to keep the horizon in sight, he tapped her gently on her cheeks and winced back when she started wheezing again. 

  
Tommy checked his pocket watch for the sixth time, clenching his jaw. He’d wanted to reveal his master plan to Arthur but couldn’t do so if his speaker was gagging every sentence. 

 

Eventually, he tore off a note and handed his brother one of the files he had Maria type over. 

  
“You’re giving me homework?” Arthur laughed and briefly flipped through the pages. 

  
Tommy nodded and tapped the side of his head. In order for his plan to work, Arthur needed to know every damn detail.  

  
“This is a medical file, about you.” Arthur stated baffled, reading through the pages, “Tom, what’s this all about? What have you got there cooking in that thick head of yours?” 

 

Instead of answering his brother, he nudged his head towards the file and motioned him to start reading. A few hours of their six hour trip passed in which Arthur struggled through endless pages of his medical journal, Maria managed to get an even greener shade on her face and Tommy emptied his second pack of cigarettes. 

 

“Tom, why am I reading this?” Arthur asked troubled, “you’re not dying are ya?” 

 

Tommy shook his head and eyed up his speaker who still clenched her hands around the bucket as if her life depended on it. 

 

_ I need you to translate _ ; he informed her, keeping distance in case she would get sick again. 

  
Maria faintly nodded and sat up to read Tommy’s signs. 

  
“I didn’t tell you my plans beforehand, because I knew you wouldn’t go along with it. But, before you start screaming at me Arthur,  _ listen  _ to me,” Maria started her task, “we’ll have a meeting with the director of the NCF tomorrow at noon. The thing is, he can’t know who we are, because his business is completely legal. Corrupted, sure, but legal nevertheless, only supplying their goods to big medical companies. So instead of bombarding into his office as Peaky Blinders, we need to do this civil and perform a little play.” 

  
Tommy tapped down onto the medical file in Arthur hands and Maria continued her translation.

 

“You’re going to be Dr. Rivers, a very respected doctor,” he pointed his index finger to Maria, “she’s going to be your secretary, “and I’m going to be the cured patient, who went from catatonic to walking and functioning by therapy and pharmacological treatment, cocaine,” his brows fluttered up, scanning the baffled faces of Arthur and Maria, “this is your newest study Dr. Rivers, still very experimental and that’s why I’ll be attending to do some tricks and jump through some hoops. Now, in order to explore the beneficial effects from cocaine on veterans you need access to cocaine. Legal cocaine. To do well, of course you’ll want to open up a charity and pharmacy for the wounded veterans of Birmingham. It’ll be your legacy and you’ll name it after some John Doe you met during the war who tragically died there. This way we’re untraceable, the real Dr. Rivers won’t have any notion that his name is being used. The director of the NCF won’t even do a background check because it’s easy cash and you’re a very respectable doctor. We’ll have access to cocaine, morphine and heroin, all made in Holland, and all legally shipped to Harwich. There the Lee’s can partly take over and deliver it across country while we work our way from Birmingham to London and Manchester.” 

 

Tommy lowered his hands and Maria closed her mouth, while Arthur’s dropped wide open. 

 

“Polly will never approve any of this,” his brother finally spoke after coming back to his senses, “and there is no way in hell that I’ll be playing doctor.”

  
“Polly doesn’t need to approve anything, you’re in charge,” Maria spoke for Tommy, “and it’s all pre-arranged Arthur, I sent out the message and received a letter back. Tomorrow at noon we have an appointment at the NCF with the director Herman H. Baanders, as Dr. Rivers, his secretary and his recovering patient.” 

  
“Well, you can tell mister director Herman to go fuck himself. And you can go fuck yourself Tom, this isn’t just a bluff, this is insane. You should knock off the snow, ‘cause you’re getting delusional.” 

  
Without further notice, Arthur threw Tommy’s medical files in his lap and marched over the deck, heading inside to probably order something strong to get the bad taste out of his mouth.

 

That could have gone better and a lot worse. Tommy unwrinkled his medical files and passed it over to Maria, nudging his index finger against his temple. 

 

_ Memorize it, ‘cause I don’t want Arthur fucking this up _ , he signed to her,  _ I’ve added and left out some bits and pieces so it’ll be all in our favor _ .

 

“You’re selling out your brain damage to cut a deal,” Maria stated, flipping open the first page of his file. 

 

_ Always use your disadvantage as an asset if it’s possible _ , Tommy replied back _ , plus I can’t have Arthur baffled in a meeting with the director of the NCF, he doesn’t have the brains. I don’t have the voice, so I had to be creative.  _

 

His plan wasn’t just creative, it was exactly what Arthur had called it; insane, the biggest bluff he’d ever pulled and therefor, this needed to work. He needed to succeed, get the heads of his family turned and marvel at his success. He needed to accomplish things that seemed impossible to finally come out of the shadow of the old Tommy.  

  
He needed to rise from the ashes of the Somme, create an empire and be worthy enough to participate in their family business. 

 

_ You’ve got five hours to memorize this, don’t get sick over it _ , Tommy signed to Maria and pushed the bucket back under her nose when she started to hiccup. 

 

He retreated to the back of the ship, tracing over the outlines of Harwich. Four years ago he’d been staring at the same scene. He remembered telling John to dry his tears and stop acting like a bloody child, ruffling up his hair. Through a sentimental haze of thought, Tommy stared at the last trace of England and noticed how his hands started to shake. 

 

.-.-.

 

In the early afternoon, their ferry made it into the haven of the Hook of Holland. Arthur was drunk, insufferable and a complete idiot. Arthur was going to take the first ferry back to Harwich and that was the end of it.

 

It took more than an hour of convincing, pleading and reasoning to make Arthur change his mind. It was mainly because of the big city of Amsterdam and all of its whores and hidden treasures that caused him to stay; and the fact that the next ferry back wouldn’t leave until the next morning.

 

Because of their delay they missed their train to Amsterdam and had to pay a tremendous price to get a cab. 

  
This didn’t set well with Maria’s stomach. While mediating between Tommy and Arthur, she had eaten lunch as she was under the impression that they’d be stepping onto a train; which for whatever reason didn’t trigger her motion sickness. 

 

Even though Tommy still held resentment towards the young woman, seeing her dash out of the cab and throw up her entire dinner twice in a row made him grow a little softer. 

 

The capital of Holland was quite breathtaking, with its maze of canals, trams and aristocratic structures. Although the First World War had left its marks, the city seemed to flourish, both in wealth as culture. The sight of the famous Amsterdam’s red-light district was enough to end Arthur’s black mood. The man lit up as their taxi crossed De Wallen, the place where legal prostitution had taken its ground. From behind windows and glass doors scarcely ladies of the night were showing off their merchandise, their curves and contours illuminating with red lights and candles.   

  
Maria stiffly kept her eyes on the road.  It didn’t show on her face, but the slight reddening of the top of her ears gave her away, which made Tommy’s lips shape into a half smirk. 

  
The driver stopped at De L’Europe Hotel, a five star establishment which a night cost just about the same amount of getting Precious back. Polly was going to tear his head off if she ever found out how much money their little trip to Amsterdam had cost. 

  
But the director of the NFC had recommended the hotel and already booked them three bedrooms under the NFC’s name, so it would be unwise to decline. 

  
Since Tommy was unable to simply ask for their reservations, Arthur was the one doing the work at the reception. He managed to nearly fuck it up by stating his own name and Maria was just in time to pipe in that director H. Baanders had booked three rooms for Dr. Rivers and his associates. 

 

Tommy gave her a light squeeze on the shoulder as she took three keys from the receptionist.

 

A lift attendant bundled up their luggage on a cart and escorted them to the fifth floor. 

 

“The rooms serve as opulent retreats that balance luxury with space,” the attendant explained, opening the door and giving them their first peek inside, “the interior of the rooms shows a blend of classic design with modern amenities, while grand windows present picturesque views of Amsterdam’s historic city center or the interior courtyard.”

  
“It has a marble bathroom…” was all Maria could breath, tiptoeing after the attendance and awkwardly stroking over the smooth tiles of the bathroom. Her dingy suitcase was gently placed onto her bed and was a complete contrast to all the wealth.

 

Tommy had to agree, this was over the top and he wondered if the attendant could sniff out their poor backgrounds. Although his three piece suit was a layer of class, he and Arthur were just two Brummy’s brought up from the filth of Small Heath. 

 

The three of them each took a moment to retreat and settle in. Overlooking the river Amstel through his window Tommy felt on edge. His heart was drumming madly inside his chest. His knees buckled and he flopped down onto the queen size bed. Closing his eyes he tilted his head back and breathed. Deep. In and out, because that was all he needed to do,  _ fucking breath _ . 

 

His moment of serenity was brutally interrupted when Arthur burst through his door. 

 

“Brother, don’t tell me you’re going ta bed. Not without someone to warm it for ya!” Arthur joked spreading his arms, “we’re in Amsterdam. Fucking capital of the world. Let’s show ‘em some cock from Birmingham!” 

 

Tommy stared at the ceiling, aware of how his fingers twitched. The last thing he had on his mind was dope and prostitutes, but in order to keep Arthur on track with his plan he needed to give his brother a bone. 

 

So he sat up straight and took out his notebook,  _ we’ll go out, but keep in mind you need to be presentable in the morning.  _

 

Arthur’s eyes scanned the note quickly and made an annoyed grunt, “you think I can’t hold my liquor? I can drink any man under the table and run my fucking business the day after. Jeez Tom, don’t be the party pooper, let’s go.” Arthur threw his cap on his lap and pointed at Tommy’s head, “might want to wear that, t’s no lady charmer those scars of yours.” 

 

If Tommy didn’t need Arthur, he might have thrown him out of the window to take a dive into the Amstel for that comment because those words cut him to the fucking bone. 

 

Slowly, he pressed his flat cap over his scalp, lit a cigarette and nearly bit the inside of his jaw open.  

 

Leaving his room, a cold hand seemed to circle itself around his chest, making it awfully hard to breath. Walking by Maria’s door, he noted he needed to give her some kind of information but Arthur was already on it. 

  
Banging on her door, he informed her that they were going out and that it was in her best interest to stay indoors. 

  
“You can order up some room service if you like,” Arthur added, indicating to the phone that sat on her cabinet, “we’ll see ya in a bit, love. Now, the Peaky boys are going to tear up Amsterdam!” He exclaimed so loudly that the entire floor was able to overhear him. 

 

This night out was doomed to turn into a bloody fistfight, or worse. Tommy face-palmed himself. Through the cracks between his fingers, he noticed Maria’s tentative gaze stare up to him. 

  
“Tommy, are you alright?” She asked with a hint of worry in her voice. 

  
Bitterly, he held his thumb up and retreated towards the elevator as Arthur closed her door. 

 

“We should do this more often Tom, us, going out.” Arthur stated loud, startling the elevator attendance, “next time we should take John too, vacation is good for the soul ya know?”

 

And while Arthur babbled on about how taking time off with the boys would be beneficial, Tommy closed his eyes and breathed. 

 

.-.-.

 

In the city of a thousand sins, it wasn’t hard to get your hands on anything, legal or illegal. This time spliff was Arthur’s drug of choice and it didn’t take him long to find a guy who knew a guy. 

 

Within half an hour into their adventure in Amsterdam Arthur rolled a joint. Back alleys are universal so no-one turned their heads as Arthur took a big drag and spread the thick scent of marijuana through the cafe. 

 

“C’mon lighten up will ya?” Arthur pressed, nudging the joint between Tommy’s fingers, “tomorrow will work, you’re the little mastermind of the family, I promise you I won’t let myself go too far.”

 

Reluctantly, Tommy steadied himself and took a drag of the joint and another. Arthur’s words eased him and the spliff had a mellowing effect on the claws that wrapped itself around his chest. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all, maybe he needed this; some off time with his brother, for old times’ sake, to unwind and regain his self-control. 

 

As the joint passed between them, Tommy’s handwriting got sloppier and the Dutch beers made both of them thirstier.  

 

The sex industry in Amsterdam was immense. More organized, prepped up and glamorous than in the UK. Of course most sex trades were still made in sleazy backrooms, young women being used as things for simple cash or pleasure. 

 

The two brothers wondered through the overcrowded maze of strip clubs, brothels and live sex shows. With Arthur’s foreign tongue they caught on some unwanted attention from pickpockets but since the Shelby’s were the inventors of pickpocketing Arthur nearly knocked a tooth out of a youngster who dared to gaze at his wallet. 

 

They went to visit the Casa Rosso, one of the oldest erotic theatres in the city. Some blokes were having a bachelor party and were invited on the stage. The rest of the show didn’t leave much room for the imagination as all girls eagerly stripped themselves of their clothes. 

 

While Arthur had his hand firmly wrapped around the bosom of a rather cheeky prostitute, Tommy was more reserved and declined a girl who tried to sit on his lap and brush his flat cap back. 

 

Draining his glass, Tommy was fully aware he wasn’t in the mood for this. He couldn’t care less about the revealing ass and tits that jiggled on the stage, he wanted to go back to the hotel, clear his head, fucking breath and get his act together for tomorrow. 

 

_ I’m going back to the hotel _ , he wrote down for Arthur who managed to get his face out of the cleavage of his girl for a mere second to read Tommy’s note. 

 

“Already? C’mon Tom we barely got here!” Arthur whined, ordering a girl to get them a few more drinks. 

 

_ You can stay, but I’m not. One of us has to be able to think tomorrow _ , Tommy wrote back, dodging another lustful look from one of the girls working. 

 

“Fine, go back, I’ll only stay for a little while,” Arthur flat out lied, eyes already back on the giggling woman straddling his lap. 

 

Tommy rolled his eyes with a sigh and got up. Dusk had settled outside and the roaring city seemed to come more and more alive. Sucking on his cigarette, Tommy straightened his jacket and pushed himself through the ocean of people. 

 

Someone shoved him back and curses were fired at his head. For a second, Tommy realised he was a nobody in this city, a complete contrast of his status in Small Heath. The thought alarmed something inside his chest and his throat went dry. 

 

Turmoil suddenly filled the air, followed by a loud crash and panic shouting. It caused a chain reaction in the mass of people. In a frenzy, a women pressed herself aside Tommy, shouting and pointing across the street. Other people passed her, startled and caring only for their own security. 

 

The soldier side of him jumped into immediate action. Pulling himself up by a lamp post, Tommy was able to locate the cause of all the panic. A tram had crashed into a carriage. While smoke hissed through the panic filled streets, Tommy could only hear one thing clearly. The soul shattering neighing of a dying horse.

 

And it was as if someone pulled a switch. The Dutch language morphed and blended into German, the panic for the derailed tram turned into a battlefield and the spliff combined with alcohol in his system brought him back ten feet below earth. Where blood spilled like rain, where hate and survival consumed him and where there was no time to breath. No light, no way out, only death. 

 

Tommy ran like the devil chased him, pushing and shoving against anyone who got in his way. In a frenzied, hallucinated state he rushed through foggy cold allies. The sounds of shovels echoed in every corner of his mind and he could feel the narrow streets closing in on him. 

 

Somewhere in his mind there was a small bit of conscious thought left, whispering that this was his trauma playing tricks on him. And maybe if he’d been across the North Sea, on familiar ground, he would have been able to take those words to heart. But the high pitched tormented sounds of the dying horse rammed through his sanity and a floodgate of terror beyond belief rushed through his entire body. This city, so far from Small Heath couldn’t provide him the shelter he needed, his sanctuary at Charlie’s yard was a world away. And he had no clue where he was. 

 

Through gritted teeth, he busted his knuckles open on brick walls. In order to break the cycle of nightmares he needed to feel something. Pain, was a solid, familiar feeling. It attached him to the reality he desperately needed. He launched his fist into the wall for the second time, he went berserk. Kicking over a garbage can and howling like a wild animal. 

  
It wasn’t enough to pause the scrapings of the shovels, the smell of gunpowder filling his nostrils and claustrophobia cutting off his air supply. 

 

He started moving again, choking to get some oxygen into his system and trying to outrun invisible enemies. 

 

Two Dutch blokes were smoking cigarettes underneath a streetlight. They were young men, just two young men having a laugh. But the Dutch language was so similar to German, it stirred up the unavoidable urge to kill both men. Their foreign words got underneath his skin, inside his head and all he could hear were the voices of the enemy. It was pure and utter flight or fight and his sanity wasn’t in his control anymore. He was out of his fucking mind, but aware.

 

As a last resort he took out his revolver and fired two shots into the air. Both young men froze for a moment before covering away into the safety of a bar. 

 

His hands were shaking uncontrollably and breathing was still not on the menu. Madness feasted inside his head and there was no escaping it.  

 

When he pressed the barrel of the gun against his temple, Tommy realised he was never going to sleep with a weapon in arms reach ever again.  

 

In one quick motion, he emptied the bullets from the cylinder and dug his revolver in the holster and sank down to his knees, holding both sides of his head to keep the shovels at bay. 

 

.-.-.

 

It had taken him an eternity to find his way back to his hotel and a lifetime to find the balls to knock on her door. Tommy couldn’t honestly think of any reason why she would allow him inside her room in the middle of the night, but was prepared to beg for entrance. Arthur was still out, the traumatic events were literally choking the life out of him and he needed some kind of solid rock for his madness to get him through the night. 

  
Puffy half lidded eyes met his through a crack in the door, widening open in surprise and recognition. 

  
“Tommy?” Maria whispered startled, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the hall light, “what on earth…” the rest of her words died in the back of her throat, taken by the poor state of her employer. 

 

Cold sweat ran down his back and chest, there was blood dripping down his fingers onto the luxurious carpet due to the cuts in his knuckles. He ran his undamaged hand through his face, unable to look at her. Fear wound him up, blocking his breath and he pushed aside her to get near the window. Feverishly he tried to open them, but his twitching hands incapacitated him. A deep, unearthly moan escaped the back of his throat and for a moment he was sure he was going to drown in his own sorrows. 

 

A set of hands took over and opened the window for him. A soft breeze brushed over his glistening cheeks and a small bit of comfort washed over him. He was above ground, there was air, there was fresh air and wind. 

 

His legs caved in and he tumbled onto the floor. With his face planted into a soft rug he let out a jittery sigh. He made it, he survived. 

 

Maria tiptoed around his stirring body and a set of doe-eyes scanned him over from head to toe. 

  
Biting her lips she knelt down at his right side, giving lingering eye contact every so often. She checked his pulse as Tommy used all his effort to regain back control over his breathing. 

  
“What did you take Tommy?” She asked soft but stern, “your pupils are the size of saucers.”

 

She must have sensed his dread, because she didn’t let go of his wrist. Instead, she clasped his hand and squeezed it lightly. 

 

The warmth coming from that tiny gesture made the shovels pause and Tommy felt as if he had one foot back into reality. From a side angle he stared up at her, wrapped in a white nightgown she was a beacon of serenity. An angel. 

  
“Tommy, you need to sit up, you’re bleeding all over the rug,” she murmured, nudging his hand. He allowed her to pull him into a sitting position; she excused herself and went into the bathroom for a moment. 

 

Maria returned and positioned herself in front of him, pushing a glass of water against his shaking hands. He didn’t take it; instead he reached back and pulled his revolver into view. Her eyes widened, but she took the weapon out of his hands. 

 

_ Hide it _ , he signed abashed and leaned his head back against the window frame. The grip inside his chest tightened and even though the windows were fully open he was choking. 

 

“Tommy, breath,” she ordered him sternly, capturing his chin between her warm fingers, “I mean it,  _ breath _ .” Drawing her knees up she stared at him, intently focused on his chest. 

  
“Tommy, I mean it, just breath,” she begged, shaking his shoulders when he started gasping for air. She took his bloody hand and pressed it onto her throat. 

  
“Breath, just like I do. In and out,  _ calmly _ ,” she pressed squeezing his wrist, “just breathe, you’re hyperventilating.” 

  
Minutes passed painfully slow as he started to regain his breath back under control. He’d squeezed his hand roughly around her throat but she didn’t even flinch, sensing his utter panic and desperate need for something,  _ anything _ to hold onto. His empty revolver lay forgotten by her bare feet. All she did was clench his wrist, keep his hand around her throat and stare at his chest. 

 

“You’re good,” Maria uttered and untangled his iron grasp around her neck. 

  
Now that the rush and adrenaline wore off, his lids started to feel heavy. Half aware, he heard her tiptoe through the room. She took hold in front of him and sat back. The revolver was gone and she held out the glass again.

  
“Your hand looks awful,” she stated concerned and started to tear off a strip of her night gown, “let me see while you drink this.” She clasped his good hand around the glass of water and stared at him until he took a sip. 

  
As she took his bleeding hand, Tommy noticed the damage he’d brought onto himself. His knuckles were swollen and skinned raw from the beatings against the walls. They'd be left with nasty dark bruises and cuts tomorrow morning. 

  
She dabbed the blood from his wounds, one by one as he sipped from his water. Tearing off a fresh line of her nightgown, Maria used it as a bandage. 

 

“Eat something, I have grapes and caviar,” she ordered him, setting down a silver tray, “don’t look at me like that. Arthur told me I could get room service, I wanted to indulge. I hate it, by the way,” Maria remarked staring at the fish eggs and toast, “I did like the lobster though.” 

 

Looking across the room, she dragged an opened champagne bottle into view, “in case you want a drink, you’re paying for it anyway. Arthur’s right, doesn’t matter how expensive it is, it all taste like piss.” 

 

Indian styled she watched him, on the verge of passing out, nibbling on some expensive leftovers and drinking lukewarm, flat champagne. If he’d been a spectator of this scene he would have a good laugh over it. 

  
The alcohol was more than welcome, easing the last of the tremors in his fingertips. 

  
“It’s late,” Maria stated. Tommy failed to find a deeper meaning behind her statement, as his lids got heavy. Reliving his trauma in France had drained him. His heart had finally stopped pounding inside his chest and the soft Dutch breeze was enough to lull him to sleep. If her statement was an attempt to get him out of her room, it had failed. As long as she didn’t give him a direct order, he’d kept his arse firmly parked onto the expensive bloody rug. 

 

Her order never came; instead she took the bottle from his hand and took a sip. Her face turned sour as she swallowed and she passed it back. 

 

After most of the content of the bottle ended up in his stomach, the familiar buzz made him slightly lightheaded and drawn to bury himself into the soft covers of the bed. 

  
Gracelessly, he pulled himself up on all fours, took a moment to find enough balance and slouched down onto the edge of the large queen size bed.

  
“You’re staying,” he watched her awkwardly getting up from the floor too, although the nightstand didn’t produce much light the antipathy on her face was clear as day. He lazily nodded in response, placing his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. He was ready to pass out now. 

  
This left his reluctant roommate with two options; she could either stay as well, or change her room with his. 

 

Indecisive, she took another sip from the champagne and Tommy was well aware he’d placed them both on thin ice by testing his limits and testing her Catholic heart. Leaning his head back onto his elbows he noted he must look as a wolf in sheep’s clothes, although his outfit was sweat drenched and disheveled. Taking the liberty to kick his shoes off, he risked a peek and caught her staring at the door.

 

What must she be thinking of him? Bursting into her room in the middle of the night, bleeding, pointing guns, choking on his own breath; warming up her bed, in the city of a thousand sins. 

 

If there was any bit of integrity in his bones, he should pick his sorry arse up and leave. 

 

'Alright Tom, time to man up and do the right thing', he thought to himself and stirred his aching body to get into action. 

 

It was then that he overheard the sound of a door being locked and Maria took a place by his side on the edge of the bed. She had a different air over her, maybe it was the champagne that gave her confidence, maybe it was his exhausted demeanour that made him appear less of a threat. 

 

Whatever it was, her action intrigued Tommy. Postponing his sleep for a bit, he watched Maria take another swig from the champagne before putting it onto the nightstand. 

 

“I've never slept with a man, nor am I planning to do so tonight. I don’t want to be a whore,” she stated firmly, “and I don’t want to be a liar. I’ve kissed you once, I was drunk but that's not an excuse. I hope you can forgive me." 

 

Her eyes locked onto his and in them lay a mixture of repent and remorse. She awaited his verdict. 

 

So that was it then? She feared to be the one thing her uncle despised, a whore. And after all the sinister and violent horrors he'd caused her to participate in, she was asking for  _ his _ forgiveness?

 

Holy Mary came from such different background it was almost alien. Another sign of their overall contrast, she’d sacrifice her own needs and desires, minimize her personal happiness for everyone surrounding her.  While he’d burn every bridge, house or church down to get what he wanted. 

 

“I don’t want to be  _ your  _ whore,” she formulated as her breath hitched sharply in the back of her throat.    

 

Those words placed the weight of the world down on his shoulders, because she’d seen him, in more ways than he wanted. And she accepted him, in more ways than he accepted himself. She was the first woman that saw something in him, after the war. She'd been the reason he'd gotten out of the stables and brought him closer to his family. She'd given him confidence and gave him the tools to find a new purpose in his life. There had been a time he'd placed her life over his and yet she'd chosen to save him. 

  
It was too painful to admit, but she scared him. In his world, her kindness meant weakness, yet her kindness had brought him out of his downward spiral. Her reaction to search for the goodness inside people made him unsteady, because with his background, his rules, his way of life, it was so easy to lose that human touch. 

 

He was fully aware he’d damaged her, cut up some rough edges around her soul. And if he wasn't such a coward he would have let her go. Because a girl from her class had no particular value, had nothing else to bring to the table other than her virtue and purity. 

 

It didn't change the fact that he wanted her; it only made it more impossible, unbearable.

 

Weakly, he reached out to her hand and took it from her lap. He could feel her pulse stutter underneath his fingertips. Through heavy lidded eyes, he tried to show her some sense of sincerity that could match hers. Slowly, he pressed the palm of her hand against his cheek.

 

He didn't want to hurt her, or taint her. He didn't want to be her superior. He didn’t even want to see. He didn’t want to think. All he wanted was to feel. 

 

Cautiously, her fingers brushed over the bridge of his nose, soothing his temple and then carefully removing his flat cap. Reflexively he caught her wrist, then relaxed his hand again. This was the ugly part of him she had accepted. With closed eyes, he allowed her to touch him, for once coping with the fact that his hideous trauma lay out in the open. Soft fingertips carefully ran over the deep lines of his scars. She was gentle, but didn’t make him feel like a small child.

 

He kissed her fingertips as they brushed over his lips. At the darkest of night, in the city of a thousand sins Tommy Shelby finally granted himself a moment at peace from the war inside his head.

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N I've rewritten the last piece at least four times. A comment made by IrelandForever and a comment from my beta reader made me rethink what exactly I wanted to be doing in this scene. I'll be honest, I'd intended to use a big part of a drabble I wrote down months ago, in which more happened then just a simple touch. But the thing is, it's not a simple touch. Tommy can fuck every whore he wants, but this bit abled him to open up and let someone in. And I couldn't bring myself to make Maria act against pretty much everything she believes in.**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

 


	37. Forbidden fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur clearly didn’t come home as early as he’d promised.
> 
> Which was the understatement of the century.

 

 

.-.-.

 

Tommy woke up from a hazy slumber, with his face nuzzling into strands of short hair. It took his foggy, hung-over mind a moment to remember his whereabouts, as he was leaning into the warmth emitting from the soft body in his arms.    
  


His short term memory suddenly cleared. Maria had spent the night with him. He could still feel her fingertips carefully brushing his face, creating small circles that lulled him to sleep. At least, that must have been what she’d thought. Through his lashes, he had watched her bright doe-eyes grow serene and tension left her limbs as her fingertips continued their circling motion over his face. She hadn’t been scared of touching him, she didn’t stop and the best part was, she wasn’t drunk.    
  


Last night, he’d felt her weight push down on the bed and for a moment, he forgot to breath. She’d chosen to sleep next to him, be near him.    
  
Through heavy lids, he’d watched her while her breath had gone steady and deep. Her lips had slightly parted, her hands crossed against her chest. She’d looked serene, as if for a moment she had forgotten that she was lying next to a cut throat gangster with suicidal tendencies.    
  
This would never have happened in Small Heath, Tommy had been very aware of that fact. But here, in the city of a thousand sins, both their roles seemed to fade and Tommy was glad that for a moment, it was enough to simply be a man and a young woman.    
  


During the darkest of night, he vaguely recalled her frantically murmuring in her sleep. Night terrors, he’d been more than familiar with them. The selfish side of him did not want to wake her up, because that would lead to her realising where she was, with who she was with, which would lead to her leaving. Their bubble would burst and Tommy wasn’t ready to let it go.    
  
Without a thought, he had fallen into a drunken sleep with his arms wrapped around her, pressing her back against his chest and rested his chin against the back of her head. The small act hadn’t been sexual, merely a way to provide some comfort and receive some himself.    
  
But if Maria woke up this instant, his small act of comfort would immediately be deemed as something vile. During the night, he’d subconsciously slide his arms from her waist to her chest and his hands cupped around her modest sized breasts. And as a direct result of that, his morning erection was firmly pressing against her lower back.    
  
Tommy, fully aware and awake did not dare to breathe, because a clear feeling of shame and awkwardness started to unfold.    
  
The bubble had burst, as the sun started to come up their roles revived and the truth became inevitably clear. The mute murderous criminal was deflowering her Catholic sense of virtue.       
  
The palm of his hand sensed a calm heartbeat, which meant she was still asleep and not aware of her employer groping her.    
  
Skillfully and slowly, he detached himself from her warm, alluring body. It was almost painful to untangle his arms and retreat to the far side of the bed.    
  
_ Fuck,  _ he breathed, staring up at the ceiling to give himself a moment to ease his thumping heartbeat. Stealing a glance, he watched her from aside, still very aware of his throbbing member. Oh, this would have been so much easier if she’d just been a random Brummie git or an Amsterdam working girl, or any other female in general.    
  
But it wasn’t that simple and it certainly wasn’t about one girl refusing to spread her legs for the damaged king of Small Heath. Because if he wanted, he could have her, he held all the strings, she was in his control. If he wanted her to jump, she’d ask how high. If he ordered her to kiss him, she would. If he wanted to pin her down on her back, he could.    
  
But that was the thing, there was a distinct difference in what he could do and what he wanted; and what he wanted wasn’t plain and meaningless sex, he could have plenty of that. What he wanted from her was what they had last night, everything and more, right before their intimate bubble burst and their roles were clear again.    
  
Maria shifted in her sleep, perhaps vaguely aware of the lack of warmth surrounding her or another nightmare interfering with her dreams. He couldn’t help roaming his eyes over her body. The thin fabric of her nightgown didn’t leave much for the imagination. Now that she was no longer under the care of her Uncle’s strict regime, and therefore no longer starving, her body had blossomed. Her limbs were no longer stick figures, her thighs lay gracelessly exposed, begging to be touched.    
  
_ Fuck _ , if she woke up now and turn around she’d see nothing more than hopeless lust and want in his eyes and arousal; if she looked further down. Yes, he wanted that, to touch her, kiss her, fuck her, claim her. Because if you tore away all the layers of the gangster persona, he was just a man. A hopeless lost cause of a man, but still just a longing man.  

 

And a fool, for wanting something he couldn't possibly have.    
  
With his bandaged hand he reached out for her, twining his middle and index finger around a lock of her short hair, before he rose from the bed. Still wearing the sweaty clothes from last night, Tommy retreated into the marble bathroom. Splashing cold water into his face, he leaned heavily on his elbows.

 

He blinked his eyes a few times and noticed his revolver on top of the marble sink. Luckily, Maria was the worst at hiding guns and he quickly tucked the weapon under his belt. 

 

_ Fuck, _ he needed to blow off some steam but this was just about the last place he was willing to jerk off; with the object of his desire waking up behind a very thin wall. A smoke then and then coffee, lots of coffee, because Tommy couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d had a decent sleep.

 

.-.-.

 

Arthur  _ clearly  _ didn’t come home as early as he’d promised.   
  


Which was the understatement of the century.    
  


After sneaking out of Maria’s hotel room like a pathetic thief in the night, Tommy had knocked on Arthur’s door. Once, twice and after the third time he’d burst into his brother’s room.    
  


He counted three prostitutes, littered onto Arthur’s bed like a pack of kittens. A fourth tiptoed out of the bathroom, with a trail of snow just below her nose. The whore excused herself and hurriedly fled the scene.   
  
Arthur came in to sight after stumbling up from behind the bed, the stench of alcohol and cheap perfume practically oozed from every inch of his body. Like a child caught stealing, he gave Tommy an apologetic, pleading look and muttered something about ‘probably letting m’self go for a bit.’   
  
On the verge of murdering his own brother in cold blood Tommy held up his hand, stretching his fingers out to indicate that Arthur had _five fucking minutes_ to clear the mess he’d made.   
  
Slamming the door shut again, Tommy angrily stormed back into Maria’s hotel room, kicking aside the remaining suitcases.   
  
Maria shot up from her slumber by the sound of the leather cases hitting the wall. Puffy, half-lidded eyes looked startled in his direction. Still fueled with anger towards his brother, he returned her shocked stare with a piercing one and held up his hand, giving Maria the same sign as Arthur, _be ready in five minutes_ , before retreating back into the hallway.   
  
The first prostitute passed him in a hurry and was still buttoning her dress. Nearly bumping into him, the young woman excused herself, aware that Tommy was ready to jump someone’s throat.   
  
Inside his own hotel room, Tommy started to change. Stepping into his old threadbare trousers he’d used in the stables and a shirt that he determinedly thought made him look like a fucking peasant, which would give him the perfect opportunity to overhear the entire meeting without being the centre of attention. What posh director would ever glance at a pedestrian?   
  


Adjusting, his suspenders, Tommy flexed his neck and pressed his fist against the wall. ‘Don’t fuck this up, don’t you dare fucking this up’, he instructed himself firmly, ‘don’t fuck it up!’   
  
Maria entered shortly after knocking on his door. His speaker looked presentable and immaculate. Wrapped in her black dress that Ada had helped her pick out, her hair was combed and held from her face by a few bobby pins. She could easily play the role of Dr. River’s secretary. She didn’t put on any make-up, which made Tommy wonder if she’d done that purposely.

  
Neither of them made an attempt to start a conversation and although Tommy was used to silence, this one made him uncomfortable. Maria quietly sat down on one of the round chairs, clasping her hands together and nervously bit her lower lip.    
  
Tommy wondered if he owed her some kind of explanation for his previous actions during the night, but decided that this wasn’t the place or the time to bring up the emasculate way he’d stormed into her bedroom and had spent the night.   
  
Instead of giving her the slightest clue about his mindset, Tommy handed her one of the two copies of his medical files, instructed her to read through it again and lit up a much needed cigarette.   
  
It took Arthur two more cigarettes to drag his sorry, hung-over ass into Tommy’s room. Clearly, his brother literally fucked the night away, with smudges of lipstick all over his face, a very visible love bite in his neck and specks of snow still in his moustache. 

  
_ Order coffee,  _ Tommy signed to Maria, nudging his head towards the phone. The girl immediately shot into action. Arthur did his absolute best to keep his balance, failed, stumbled backwards, crashed a lamp down onto the floor, cursed and eventually dropped down onto the bed.    
  
“Sorry Tom, give me a second,” Arthur muttered, waving his arm in the air while he rubbed his forehead with the other, “just a second.”    
  
There was no possible way that Director Herman H. Baanders was going to fall for this weak attempt of impersonating the real doctor Rivers. Not in Arthur’s current state.    
  
_ Do you still have cocaine on you?  _ Tommy signed to his brother. Arthur didn’t seem to have the slightest clue what Tommy’s hand signals meant, so Tommy directed himself to Maria.   
  
The girl placed her hand over the phone and said to Arthur: “Tommy wants to know if you still have cocaine.”  

  
Arthur grunted something unintelligible and held up a tin box originally used for snuff tobacco. Well, at least that was something; his older brother’s state of alertness under the influence of cocaine was astounding.    
  
As the coffee got served, Arthur managed to sit up and snorted a line of cocaine the moment the serving lady left the room.    
  
“There is no way in hell I’m wearing a bow tie,” Arthur stated, staring in complete and utter disgust to the suit Tommy had packed for him.    
  
Tommy didn’t respond and threw the three piece white striped suit into his brother’s lap. Maria kept her gaze firmly fixed onto her cup of coffee as Arthur shamelessly undressed and then inspected the clothes given to him.    
  
“Wool, I fucking hate wool,” Arthur snarled, jogging to pull his trousers up, “why do I have to dress up like a sodding la-di-da?” Sulking, Arthur buttoned his blouse and pulled his sleeves up, “I hate this fucking plan of yours, it ain’t going to work, Tom, c’mon I’m not a smooth talker, I don’t know a fucking thing about surgery or medical equipment. Why can’t we just fucking walk in there as the Peaky Blinders and do what we do best?” To give his words more meaning he jammed his fist into the palm of his hand.    
  


“Because sometimes you need to be civil and sophisticated,” Maria started out of the blue and continued with a soft spoken voice: “the thing is with dealing with the privileged class is to let them do all the talking. Most of those men are so self-centered and full of themselves they don’t care much about what the other has to say. All they want is their ego to be flattered and gain more fortune. Just play along, act as if you own the world as well and show off your patient, the medical file speaks for itself and I wonder if Director Baaners has the slightest medical experience himself. The factory produces cocaine as medical supply, but that doesn’t mean neither the staff nor the director has to be aware of every detail within the product.”     
  
Both Blinder brothers exchanged gazes. “You think they won’t notice?” Arthur asked, directing himself towards Tommy.    
  
Tommy shook his head in response, thankful for his speaker’s words of wisdom. Maybe they had a shot after all. 

 

.-.-.

 

Maria walked quietly behind the two Blinders. Both men seemed fully aware of what was at stake. Arthur had managed to alter from his usual ‘more brawn than brains’ self to a beacon of intellect. Horned glasses and a bowtie added more details to the real Dr. Rivers and the use of baby powder to whiten his hair did the trick. Arthur still hadn’t been thrilled about his change of image and had been bickering non-stop. He’d even made a comment on why Tommy hadn’t bribed John into this ridiculous adventure. When Tommy flatly pointed out that John had the skin of a newborn and couldn’t possibly take on the role of a fifty year old man, Arthur had grumbled something underneath his breath and finally started to cooperate.     
  
Maria wondered if it had been kindness or convenience, as they traveled by foot to the Nederlandsche Cocainefabriek. Although she didn’t fully understand the depth of the deal that could possibly be made today, she was aware that in order to stay on the Blinders good side, they needed to succeed. 

  
As she passed through narrow streets, that didn’t appear much different than the ones in Small Heath, she wondered if Tommy had forgiven her. As Ada had explained, Tommy’s communication skills on the matter weren’t present. Simply asking him seemed an absurd idea and the more Maria thought about it, the more she realised that she couldn’t recall Tommy ever talking about his feelings. Not during their time working in the stables, not after receiving Dr. Rivers’s verdict during their appointment. Tommy simply held everything back by wrapping himself in a state of silent indifference.   
  
The only time Maria could recall Tommy breaking, was when they had escaped Russo’s mansion. He’d been in immense pain, on the verge of losing consciousness and barely believing he was still breathing. A raw shared relief had passed between them and it had seemed that realising he had survived, broke him. Whatever previous trauma crossed his mind, it had been enough to make him choke up and hold her as tight as his damaged body allowed him to.   
  
She’d never tell a living soul about it, but it was that moment when she knew she’d seen the full extent of Tommy’s damage. It wasn’t the absence of his voice that crippled him; it was the absence of emotions. He kept everything in, all locked behind those two icy blue, cold and calculated eyes.  
  
She’d seen a shard of the broken man inside, that night a few miles away from Russo’s mansion. There was so much pain, self-loathing and despair inside of him, she wondered if there was enough whiskey in the world to help him cope with that.   
  


And then there was last night.    
  


When she opened her hotel room she didn’t see a man, but a hunted wild animal. Instinctively, she’d known he was reliving France. As he mentioned during the appointment with Dr. Rivers, at times he thought he was back there. Although he’d frightened her dearly, bleeding and pulling out guns, she’d felt the overwhelming need to take the fear away.    
  
As she’d bandaged his bloody knuckles she wondered how many men he must have killed with those bare hands; and how many had been killed in cold blood. She’d braced herself as she wondered what kind of monster it made her, caring for a murderer, a thief, a criminal, an aspiring drug trafficker, a cold hearted gangster. 

  
All those labels, joined with the sinister things her uncle had said about the Shelby family should be enough to make her stop caring for him. 

  
But you can’t change what you feel, not even when you try to lock it deep inside your chest and pray for the Lord to take those feelings away. 

  
Those feelings had been the reason she started praying again. At first, she prayed for Tommy, it was the night he’d driven Russo’s Chrysler into the hospital and she eventually had been dropped off at Watery Lane by John. At night, when she was sure her mum and sisters were fast asleep, she’d clasped her hands together and prayed. She’d made a promise to attend Sunday services again, if her work allowed it. She’d made a few more promises and begged Him to keep Tommy safe and if that wasn’t possible, then to at least forgive his sins and allow him into His kingdom, because there was kindness inside of him, generosity, compassion. It lay hidden, as if it was something to be ashamed of, but it was there and it would show, seldom.    
  
Maria’s prayers must have had some meaning, because Tommy woke up the next day. At first Maria thought it was a miracle, but slowly started to realise that she was being tested from above - because ever since their paths crossed, hers intertwined with his and darkened. And yet, she didn’t want to flee and rush back to where hers turned into a T split. She no longer wanted to be the weak and fragile young woman that had been forced to leave everything she loved behind in order to have a roof over her head. 

  
Tommy had saved her from a life of poverty and misery, but at what cause? She’d committed more than a dozen sinful acts since she’d been given the job as his speaker; varying from lying, stealing, cutting and being promiscuous. 

  
She had prayed and asked for forgiveness for all her sins because all those things were wrong, vile, the work of the devil. She shouldn’t feel so indifferent and self-righteous for cutting Russo, she should have felt more remorse when she stole John’s cigarettes, smuggled them into the hospital and handed them to Tommy. Her mother, who’d given life to her, taught her right from wrong, loved her dearly, how many times had she lied to her face? 

 

And last night, when she felt obligated to tell Tommy she’d never slept with a man, that she wasn’t a whore and was sorry for kissing him, had she been completely honest? 

  
‘The devil made me do it’, wasn’t that just a poor excuse? ‘The alcohol made me do it?’ wasn’t that just a poor excuse too? 

  
Last night, she’d desperately wanted to make him believe that she still held true to her self-respect, beliefs and virtue. 

 

Because if she was being completely honest with herself, she didn’t think she’d been able to put up a fight if he’d kissed her again. 

 

Although her memory of the night they’d kissed was a blur, she could still recall how his lips pressed hard and forcefully against hers, his callous hands firmly clasped around the shape of her bare waist to minimize the space between their bodies. The alcohol she’d consumed had blurred her senses during the party, but the raw skin to skin contact made her hypersensitivity to all senses. Tommy’s rough reaction to the simple peck on the lips had taken her breath away, made her shoulders taut and knees weak. An unfamiliar ache between her thighs had made her want more. To touch him in a way she shouldn’t, run her fingers over places that were strictly forbidden.

  
She remembered how the hairs on her neck and arms stood up when Tommy jerked back as been touched by fire.

  
She’d called out his name when he got up in a hurry to leave, and for a moment he’d looked at her in a way only a man could look at a woman; with desire, want and need. It had frightened her and yet she longed for his closeness, for reassurance because she was so intoxicated and confused about craving immoral pleasure. Sex was a taboo, always had been. It had made her feel uncomfortable and she’d rather not talk about it. Not with her mother, not with her peers and certainly not with any man.  

  
Tommy had dropped her nightgown on her lap and left without giving her the least bit of comfort and so she figured he didn’t care much about her or her feelings. It had been the thing her mum always warned her about, men simply take what they can get without thinking about the consequences. In order to protect her, both her parents had been strict with her upbringing. She’d been forbidden to go to their local dancing class once they learned there would be boys too. Her father had flogged her when he overheard two boys saying one of them had kissed her. 

 

That kiss hadn’t been much of a kiss. It didn't last more than a few brief seconds and she’d done it mainly because her friends had teased her for being such a prude. It had been more of a dare; she didn’t fancy the boy and had been glad to get it over with.  

  
She’d never seen her father unleash such fury and hadn’t been able to sit up straight for a week. It had made her feel so dirty and she’d despised herself for making her normally calm and kindhearted father livid. 

  
She didn’t want to be dirty, a whore, a vile slut, because if she gave away her self-respect and virtue, there was absolutely nothing left she could possibly offer. If she lost that, Small Heath would have taken away every bit of the person she believed she thought she was and wanted to be. 

  
Torn between her strong beliefs, her Catholic background and the simple fact that she was a human with needs and desires, she bumped into Arthur’s back as the two Blinder brothers paused in front of a huge warehouse. 

  
Arthur scratched the back of his head, checking the street sign twice: “Tom, M’lady I guess this must be it…”

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: Oh both so torn, I’d almost feel sorry for them. Almost.**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

  
  
  



	38. A Pack of Wolves in Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Miss,” the Director took hold of Maria’s hand with both of his and pulled her closer, “welcome to my humble factory, I honestly hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

 

 

.-.-.

 

The moment the Blinders entered the warehouse at Schinkelkade 30, Tommy knew he’d made a fatal mistake in judgement.    
  


As far as his research went, the Nederlandsche Cocaine Fabriek had been founded by the Koloniale Bank, in the early 1900s. And since the NFC had been granted a permit to produce and export cocaine, morphine and other usually illegal substances to foreign countries and corporations, such as the Burroughs Wellcome & Co, the creator of the  _ Forced March,  _ Tommy figured the NFC would be managed by upper-class sophisticated gentlemen.   
  
They were greeted by no-one less than Director Herman H. Baanders himself, with open arms, which showed a fair share of tattoos beneath the rim of the collar of his neck and wrists. A bright toothy smile showed a golden canine and two calculating beady dark eyes that zigzagged underneath bushy eyebrows of white steel wool.   
  
Polly’s lessons taught Tommy to never underestimate an old man doing a young man’s job and although Director Baanders appeared to be around the age of sixty, Tommy sensed the man was a wolf in fancy sheep clothing and they just had walked into a lion's den.     
  
“Gentlemen,  _ fine _ gentlemen,” the Director corrected himself, shaking hands with Arthur and then with Tommy.    
  
Tommy noticed a small tattoo between the man’s thumb and index finger; it was the face of a little devil, flicking its forked tongue. The handshake was short and firm, a possible asset to reassure that those tattooed hands were capable of a lot more than simply signing papers.   
  
“Miss,” the Director took hold of Maria’s hand with both of his and pulled her closer, “welcome to my humble factory, I honestly hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”   
  
They were given a grand tour, in which Director Baaners directed himself fully to Arthur, or Dr. Rivers as he presumed, but flashed his beady eyes over to Maria every once in a while. The glances weren’t hard to notice and it made Maria uncomfortable. Stiffly, she walked close to Arthur, nearly touching shoulders and her hands clenched around the small suitcase filled with paperwork and cash.    
  
The inside of the packing station of the factory was a dump; most of the windows were covered with thick layers of dust and spider webs. The assembly lines were managed by young lads and occasional little boys. The workers shared the same dead tired stare as the factory workers in Small Heath. Along the lines of working lads a pack of tall, broad men marched around, armed with clubs, iron poles and bare fists. Those men kept the workers in line and ‘eager’ to pack as efficiently as possible, as Director Baanders put it.   
  
The producing area was a restricted part of the factory and for a moment Tommy’s heart dropped as he feared they might be body searched. Arthur seemed equally alarmed, as he’d also brought his gun along the ride.    
  
But all they had to do was press their feet into a basin of alcohol and wash their hands in a dingy lavatory. 

  
Maria had never been so pleased to see them return and she immediately retreated back to Arthur’s right side. Tommy knew it was premeditated, she was supposed to play the role of Dr. River’s assistance and Tommy played the role of silent patient, but seeing her plastered to Arthur’s side stirred up a humbling bit of envy.    
  
The production area of the factory was something to honestly marvel at. The high ceiling and vents dispatched the chemical fumes coming from the raw product material. The workers in this area appeared older, healthier and were all wrapped in white lab coats and armed with thick leather boots and gloves. 

  
“In 1875, our first coca plants were transferred from Brazil to the colonial botanic Garden‘s Lands Plantentuin te Buitenzorg,’ in Java,” Director Baanders explained, “shortly after, commercial production started in Java. Coca leaves were exported, mainly to Germany, through our Koloniale Bank. This trade moved between 34 and 81 tons of leaves annually from 1892 to 1900. Because of the growing demand, the Koloniale Bank decided to start production of cocaine in Amsterdam. Our factory was named the Nederlandsche Cocaine Fabriek at the 12th of March, 1900 and soon the NCF became the major cocaine producers in Europe, before the name change we produced mainly opiates,” the Director added with pride. 

 

Arthur’s eyes grew large as he Director nodded to a massive iron silo, “our aim is to fill up at least two of those beauties with pure cocaine, twice a week, “and of course our aim is to keep our quality.”    
  
Their next stop was at the quality check, a cramped room storing a variety of medical machinery and a lab worker, focusing on a dozen glass tubes.    
  
“We take our responsibility very seriously,” the Director vowed, “a bad product means a bad name. Before our factory became the NCF, it had been in my family for two generations, father to son and the prize is very  _ high _ if something or  _ someone  _ fucks up,” the threat was aimed at the lab worker, who quickly started to scribble down notes.    
  
The three Blinders were also shown the area where they produced other medical supplies, such as morphine, heroine and other opiates. Although Director Baanders kept repeating that their main product was cocaine, because cocaine  _ sold _ .     
  


Their tour ended inside the Director’s office, a large pompous room filled with dark oak furniture, a massive desk and large pieces of unfamiliar art plastered on the walls. 

  
“Who painted that?” Maria whispered astounded underneath her breath, staring at a painting of a girl wearing impossibly large pearl earrings.    
  
The sharp ears of the Director overheard her question and granted the young woman a golden smile.    
  
“Ah, an art fanatic, that’s a Vermeer. I’m a collector so to speak and since cash flows like water,” he made a gesture to the painting, “I like to surround myself with the beauty within the world.”     
  
To give his words more meaning, he slouched down at his desk and pulled out a box of cigars.   
  


“So, fine gentlemen, what do you think of my humble factory?” He held out the box and put his feet up on his desk.    
  
Arthur exchanged a hurried gaze with Tommy; who nodded, it was time to start their act.   
“You’ve got a  _ fine _ establishment,” Arthur started, picking his words with care, “our new pharmacy would be eager to do business with you-”    
  
“-Ah, yes,” the Director cut Arthur off, “ _ Dr. Rivers _ , you’ve mentioned that in your letter, but failed to inform me what kind of pharmacy that  _ exactly _ is.”   
  
The way Director H. Baanders picked his words pinned the hairs on Tommy’s neck up into the air. There it was, the huge flaw in his plan. He hadn’t done the proper research. Being on the spree to gain a legal cocaine import contract, he had failed to take a few steps back and do a better background check on the Director.    
  
Tommy had figured H. Baanders was an upper class rich prick, who had better things to do than sit around, listening to a presumed doctor. Tommy had thought the Director would be eager to show off his emporium and seal the deal with an outstanding member of the Birmingham society, a medical war veteran. 

  
But this Director was a crook, maybe not in the illegal sense, but he was a bad man, just like Tommy and Arthur. And what do have all bad men in common? Common sense, gut feeling and a fucking gun.

  
Before Tommy knew it, Maria was staring into the barrel of a Webley 455 MK. Both the Blinder men remained frozen in their seat because if they pulled out their gun right this instance, their deal would be over. Even worse, their lives might be over, starting with Maria’s.    
  
Another ice cold thought crashed down on Tommy. He didn’t load his gun. As Maria’s face paled, Tommy instantly remembered how hers had paled last night, as he’d pressed his revolver into her hands. The same revolver he’d used to scare off two youngsters, the same revolver he’d emptied to prevent himself from blowing his crazed brains out.    
  
He walked into a lion's den, with a wolf in sheep's clothing, with an empty gun.    
  
This would be the second mistake he’d made that could cost them their lives.   
  
Sucking on the end of his cigar, the bushy white eyebrows on Director Baanders roze sky high.   
  
“Well, can any of you explain to me why a knighted Doctor would bother to show up in here to seal a deal with a poor sod like myself? Any good Doctor would send an ambassador, one he wouldn’t mind losing his head,” pulling the hammer of his gun back and aiming right between Maria’s two huge terrified eyes he puffed out circles of smoke, “well? Does anyone care to do a little explaining or should I redecorate my office with the blood of this fine young thing?”    
Craning his neck towards Tommy he continued, “What the fuck is your purpose in this whole fiasco?”    
  
Tommy’s jaw dropped open and gently he held his hands up.    
  
“Director Baanders, I can explain the whole thing, if you could just lower your-” Arthur started but the Director snapped at his words.   
  
“-You are not in the position to negotiate! And I don’t want to hear a word from you. I want to hear it from him, the silent klootzak,” the Director cursed in Dutch.    
  
“He can’t speak,” Maria murmured, eyes still fully focused on the deadly weapon pointing at her, “I’m his speaker. And you are right, we aren’t here to make a deal for a presumed pharmacy or charity”    
  
Tommy heard himself moan and he closed his eyes in defeat, that good Catholic mouth of hers was going to end them all today.    
  
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere,” the Director spoke with glee, but his cold eyes told a different story, “now since you’re the only one who made an attempt to be honest, please be so kind as to explain why the three of you dared to enter my factory. Who are you? My bets are on Scotland Yard.”    
  
Maria’s terrified eyes turned to Tommy, but the Director nudged her cheek with his gun, “tut, tut, eyes up here, to the thing that will blow your pretty face off if you speak anything but the truth.”    
  
The only time Tommy could recall seeing his speaker in this state of utter terror was the time the both of them were down in Russo’s basement. Only that time she had feared for his life when he was being tortured, not her own. It made Tommy wonder if she will be pleading for her life as much as she had pleaded for his.

  
“We’re not from Scotland Yard. We’re the Peaky Blinders,” Maria spoke in a soft broken voice. And there it was, curtain closed for Tommy’s master plan, and the curtain closed for the three of them.

  
“Peaky Blinders?” The Director partly choked, partly laughed. “And who might that be?”

  
“Gangsters from Birmingham, sir,” Maria explained soft-spoken.

  
Now the Director did laugh, out loud, to her face, harsh and cold. “You’re a gangster?!” 

  
“I am on their payroll,” Maria carefully explained, earning another round of laughter.

  
“You doll?” Another chuckle escaped the Director’s lips, “honestly, do share, what’s the worst you’ve ever done?” 

  
Maria’s shoulders taut and her lips turned into a thin line, “I’ve once nearly cut a man’s cock off for harassing me, sent ‘im to the hospital. A week later, his head was sent in a box to his family, we wrapped it nicely.” 

  
A startling tremor made the gun tremble for a moment; the director dumped his cigar in an ashtray and scanned the young woman over a few times. 

  
“If you’re lying dolly…”

  
“Am not, why would I lie over such hideous sin? I’m being held at gunpoint, maybe I should be lying about dismembering a man. He deserved it though,” Tilting her chin she gave off a strange aura of entitlement, “he should have known better than to fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” 

  
Now the Director appeared entertained, “is that a threat princess?” 

  
“No sir, that’s common sense. The Blinders own Birmingham, parts of Manchester and our allies are the Lee’s. Criminal travellers sir, spread all over the globe.” 

  
“Your lot are Gypsies? Oh, this just gets worse and worse doesn’t it?” The Director bellowed as Maria nodded, “so do tell me, why on Earth did you lot come in here, with a bad impression of a Doctor, unarmed-”

  
“-Who said we’re unarmed?” Maria retorted humbly. 

  
“Hands up! All of you!” The Director spat hurriedly, pointing his weapon all over the room. Arthur and Maria quickly did as told and Tommy knew Maria just blew their last bit of hope. Surely Arthur hadn’t been dumb enough to bring an empty gun, but with his hands in the air, he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to reach it faster than the Director. 

  
“Well, now that I know who you are, allow me to tell me a bit about myself,” he said while unbuttoning his first button, “as I’ve mentioned my family has been in charge of this empire for two decades. But we all started from nothing somewhere along the line, right? We didn’t start as a legal blooming business, far from it,” he pointed out, starting to undo his second button, “I’m not just a fan of art, I’m also fond of music. You can say it’s in my blood.” Pulling aside his shirt, the Director revealed parts of his tattooed chest. A traditional black raven, on top of a Nomad woman’s shoulder decorated the place above the Director’s heart.    
  
Tommy swallowed dryly exchanging concerned gazes with Arthur. Director Baanders was a Rudari, a distant Romani relation from Northern Hungary. Most of them wiped out, by the strict regime that wanted to cleanse their country from ethnic minorities.   
  
“Most of my kin migrated to America, but a stubborn few, found their fortune closer to home. In Amsterdam,” Director Baanders pointed out content, “that being said, you have about one minute to explain what your reason is for being here,” the Director pointed his weapon to Arthur, “you, speak.” 

  
“We are planning to start up a cocaine imperium in the UK. Our base is Birmingham but we have ways to easily export it to Manchester, Liverpool and possibly London,” Arthur started stiffly, “but our business needs a bigger and better distributor than we have now and seeing your business is equipped to produce tons and is completely legal, we decided to have a meeting with the NCF.”

  
“And why the whole act?” The Director fired.

  
“‘Cause we didn’t think a rich prick from Amsterdam would want to do business with a bunch of Gypsy gangsters,” Arthur pointed out bluntly. 

  
“Isn’t it a small world after all?” The tight lips of the Director turned into a wry grin and casually, he lowered his gun down onto his desk. “Just for your information, I have about two dozen armed and angry men guarding my business, do not think you can harm me and make it out alive.”

  
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Arthur responded, slowly lowering his arms. 

  
As Maria and Tommy did the same, the Director opened a drawer and took out various heavy solid glass containers, the size of ashtrays. The content was the purest snow Tommy had ever laid his eyes on. 

  
“Fine gentlemen, dolly, have a seat,” The director points to the chairs, “and let’s do business.” 

 

.-.-.

 

With a body stiff from the purest cocaine he’d ever snorted, Tommy exited the Nederlandsche Cocaine Fabriek, unarmed, unharmed and with a decent contract. 

  
Arthur, with a body in the same energetic euphoric state came right after him, with Maria still glued to his side. 

  
Arthur was able to keep his hysteria under control until they walked around the first corner. There, his euphoric frenzy erupted and he started laughing frantically. Picking up Maria around her waist, he twirled her around on the sidewalk, being granted many strange gazes from bystanders. 

  
“You must be our lucky charm love!” He exclaimed, kissing both her cheeks before placing her back on her own two feet. “The Peaky Blinders slash NFC fundaments have been signed and the start of our own cocaine empire has been born today!” 

  
Before Tommy could brace himself, he was being pulled in by the two strong and powerful hands of his brother. He responded stiffly, tapping Arthur on the shoulder as the air got knocked out of his lungs by a tight hug. 

  
“Now, Tom, we are never going to pretend to be something we’re not!” Arthur snarled into his ear. “We’re the Peaky Blinders,  _ gypsies _ , born and raised in Birmingham. We are proud of that. No business meeting, no other type of bullshit will ever make me say otherwise, got that?”

  
Tommy nodded sheepishly as Arthur pulled back, ruffling his hands through his eyes. 

  
Maria suddenly burst into tears. Knees, buckled and she dropped down onto the filthy streets, wailing, burying her face into her hands.   

  
Being on a cocaine frenzy and establishing the impossible made Tommy momentarily forget that his speaker wasn’t a war veteran, nor a cut throat gangster and minutes ago had been held at gunpoint. 

  
Hunching down to meet her at eye-level, Tommy was unflatteringly pulled down to his knees as a result of Maria’s arms clinging around his neck. 

  
“I t-thought I was going t-to die!” The poor young woman choked through her tears, “a-again!” 

  
Being a poor excuse for anyone who was remotely comforting, Tommy awkwardly stroked through her hair and really wished she wouldn’t break down in broad daylight with an entire city -and Arthur- to notice. 

  
To prevent an audience to form for a show, Tommy pulled her back on her feet, trying to balance between being her consoler and remaining callous in the eyes of Arthur. 

  
He failed miserable at both as Maria sniffled against his chest and he pressed his chin down onto her head. 

  
The slight gesture of Maria breaking down made Arthur more uneasy than it did with Tommy and so his brother offered the only solution to fear and heartache he knew.

  
“Let’s get a drink then.” 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: Ok, this chapter didn’t remotely go as planned and by God I’m so happy it took a big turn. Mainly because I was bored, by the thought of writing a decent meeting with some Director block who thought he’d be better than everyone else in the room. So as I made up the fact that H. Baanders was pretty much alike Tommy and Arthur, I figured they needed something that bound them. I figured this out around the time I typed down Maria being held at gunpoint. Everything turned out completely different than I had in mind, simply because I didn’t want to force myself to write ‘a boring meeting’. Halfway I didn’t even know how it was going to turn out and made everything up after that. Worked out, very well.**

 

**I like that Maria pretty much saved the day, without being out of character. I love that Tommy really fucked it up. Also love Arthur for pointing out to Tommy that they should be proud of what and who they are. Also, liked to make up another OC with a little background and foundation.**

 

**Loved to write this entire chapter in general, simply because it’s all made up spontaneous.**

 

**Oh Mute-Tommy, you’ve come so far from being the damaged stable lad…**

 

**All feedback, big and small will be highly appreciated, comments are my muse <3**

 

**Xoxoxo Nukyster**


	39. Losing Religion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Dear God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things, I firmly intend, with Your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin,’

**A/N: promise me you will only read this chapter while listening to ‘Nine Crimes’ from Damien Rice.**

 

.-.-.

 

Arthur's final attempt to bribe Maria into taking a strong drink failed miserably. The poor thing was presumably in a state of shock and managed to spill half of the contents of her teacup all over the table, as her hands trembled as badly as her lower lip. 

  
Arthur exchanged a gaze mixed with concern and impatience. “We should go out to celebrate our new contract,” he pointed out eagerly, hinting to Tommy that he should fix the traumatised young woman so that they could ditch her back at the hotel to go roaming around Amsterdam.  

  
“I’ve been to a club last night, you ain’t going to believe-” Arthur babbled on about one of the many sex clubs in the red light district, but Tommy heard little and cared less. 

  
Maria didn’t seem to hear a word of the vulgar language; her vacant eyes were fixated on her jittering hands, her thoughts elsewhere. There was a nervous twitch playing at the corner of her lips and she flinched back when the loud barman slammed down another pint glass for Arthur. 

  
_ We can’t leave her alone like this,  _ Tommy wrote down and passed the note to Arthur, who read it, sighed and rolled his eyes.

  
“Tom, we’re in Amsterdam, the capital of Holland.  _ Holland,  _ the only place in the world where prostitution and drug trafficking is legal,” leaning within ear reach, “she’s going ta stay at the hotel, I ain’t taking her with us.” 

  
Maria finally snapped out of her catatonic state and clasped her hand around Tommy’s wrist, “please don’t leave me alone,” she pleaded gulping, the knuckles of her hand turning white.

Tommy threw Arthur a well-meant stare, furrowing his brows. Arthur groaned and arched his back. 

  
“For fucks sake, this is our last day in Amsterdam, I’m not going to babysit a lass, not even if she’s our lucky charm,” his big brother sulked. 

  
Tommy tore his arm loose from Maria’s deadlock and scribbled down:  _ It’s not right to leave her alone, you go knock yourself out, I’ll keep an eye on her. _

_   
_ “You’re serious?” Arthur grunted in dislike, “You’re picking her over me?”

  
Tommy stared from his sulking brother to the frightened bewildered state of his speaker. 

  
_ Arthur, she looks like the young boys in the trenches, the ones who wet the bunk beds. We didn’t leave those boys alone, now did we?  _ Tommy wrote down.

  
“Oh, for fucks sake,” Arthur slammed down a few bills and crunched his chair back, “you do what you’re gut tells you to do, and I’ll do what mine tells me. See ya t’night, or tomorrow morning, most likely.”  __

  
Without further notice, Arthur left the pub. 

  
There was an awkward silence between Tommy and Maria, she hadn’t read the notes and therefore only knew half of the conversation between the two Blinder brothers. Unaware of the sacrifice her employer had made, she tried to drink some of her tea.

  
Tommy reached out his hand and gently placed the rattling porcelain back on its saucer and signed:  _ If you could pick any place in Amsterdam, where would you go? _

_   
_ Maria looked uncertain and blinked a few times before answering doubtless: “to church.” 

 

.-.-.

 

The Basilica of Saint Nicholas was located in the centre district of Amsterdam. It was the city’s primary Roman Catholic Church, with the main facade flanked by two towers and a rose window in between. Sculptures of saints were place in a niche in the upper section of the gable top. The crossing of the main body of the church was articulated by a large octagonal tower, with a baroque style dome and lantern, crowned by a cross. At the south-east ends of each side aisles there were two chapels, one devoted to Mary and one to Joseph. The central dome was high and ornate, containing four levels of stained glass, encircling the dome.

 

Maria had never seen a place so colossal and majestic; it simply took her breath away as she stared up at the dome, craning her head between her shoulders. 

  
As it was a Saturday afternoon, the place didn’t hold many church goers. For the first time in months, her body felt serene again, anchored, whole. 

  
“I’d like to burn a candle,” she whispered breathless, still in awe of the beauty inside the house of God, “for my brother and father.” 

  
Tommy had chuckled when she told him she’d like to visit a church. When her face gave away she was being serious his brows rose up heavenwards and he’d pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Ridiculing her wish, he’d drawn a tiny cross on his chest, but complied in escorting her to a Catholic church. 

  
It had surprised her so much that he’d been willing to actually enter the church, her jaw had dropped. Her employer was out of his element in the house of God, fidgeting his fingers around his flat cap, wavering uncomfortably and eventually he lowered his head wear in an act of respect. 

  
Accompanying her at the altar, he threw a few hasty glances over his shoulder towards the other church goers. His shoulders relaxed somewhat when he noticed the common lack of interest they had in the foreign travellers inside the Dutch Church. 

  
Maria put two English pennies aside in a rusty box, to pay for two votive candles, she figured every donation was welcome and equal in the house of the Lord.  

 

It was almost to the date since she’d been told the news of her brother’s passing away. His life had ended too sudden, too soon. It had broken her mum, caused her father to pack up and join the front and in all honesty, left her quite indifferent. The toll of losing her only son, caused their mum to retreat inside her bedroom, merely a ghost of the strong woman she’d once had been. The lack of her mother’s caring presence, the sudden responsibility for the twins and continuous labour around their farm, made it impossible to mourn for her brother David properly.

  
Up until this day, she still hadn’t been able to allow herself time to grieve for David. Because he’d robbed her of her childhood. The moment David’s body got pulverized by a grenade, her carefree life had ended. In a way, David had caused the destruction of their family. Her father hadn’t been a fighter, a proper hunter without a doubt, but not a soldier. Her father died within the first two weeks, granted a quick and sudden death by a bullet between the eyes. It had been a clear shot, without pain.

  
Within two weeks after her mum lost her only son, she was a widow. And her grief had been too burdensome to remember she had three daughters who’d felt the same raw, aching loss.

  
Her family had been torn apart, by a foolish war, started by foolish men, in a country that hadn’t been theirs in the first place. Her brother had burned, touched by hellfire, for nothing. 

  
And he didn’t deserve that, nor did he deserve to be resented by his own sister. 

  
Maria lit the first small candle and placed it near the huge cross; “forgive me,” she whispered, to her brother, who she missed dearly. 

  
Carefully, she lit the second candle and placed it closely to the first, “forgive me,” she whispered again, to her father who’d wished a better life for her than the one she was living now, “forgive me,” she whispered to The Father that saw all her sins with His all-seeing eyes, “forgive me,” she whispered for all the people she’d wronged from the moment she’d set foot in Small Heath. The list was long, starting with her Aunt and Uncle and ending with the silent companion next to her. 

 

Aware of Tommy’s still bearing, Maria quickly made a cross and chose to retreat to the last row of seats. 

  
Taking place on a pew, she’d clasped her hands together and closed her eyes, ‘Dear God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things, I firmly intend, with Your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin,’

 

When she reopened her eyes she’d noticed how Tommy had mimicked her actions, holding his hands and keeping his head solemnly lowered. 

  
_ I thought you didn’t believe in God _ , Maria signed startled.

  
_ I don’t,  _ Tommy signed back,  _ but your brother and father were brave men and it suits me to pay them my respect.  _

  
Although she fully believed that Tommy would never share a word about the horrors he’d endured in France, it brought her hope to see him pay his respects to her brother and father.

_   
_ She fought a lump in her throat that was impossible to swallow. Her memories brought her back to the church in her hometown, she remembered standing in line all wrapped in black. She’d shook hand after hand in order to receive the condolences and respect from all of those people. It didn't mean a thing to her, because their actions spoke louder than their words. Eventually, her mum had to pack up their humble belongings, because not one of those ‘sympathetic’ churchgoers wanted to take them in. 

  
And the family that had taken them in, only used their good Christian duty as an excuse to use them as slaves. 

  
The armed pagan beside her showed her brother and father more respect than her entire hometown and family. He’d taken them under his wings when they had no place to go. And the mere fact that he’d chosen to join her inside and had taken off his flat cap spoke volumes. More than once, he’d made it clear he despised all forms of religion and never let a chance go by to ridicule her Catholic background.  

  
The tightening of her throat and the affinity of Tommy’s actions forced emotions, which since now she’d managed to keep buried inside, to finally seep out in the form of quiet tears.

  
Quickly, she wiped them away, afraid to let them be noticed. 

  
“I miss them, every day,” she silently confessed, pressing her lips firmly shut to retain more tears to fall, “it’s not fair they had to die, I- we used to be so happy. I love my brother,” she paused, because she didn’t want to have her heartache to be on full display, “but I resent him too. He went to war to seek adventure, thrill, for the sake of heroism. He destroyed my life when he destroyed his own. At nights, I’ve dreamed of digging up his grave and shake him like a ragdoll. But then I wake up and realize all we have is an empty grave.” 

  
She’d never before confessed to anyone how deeply she resented her brother, how at times she’d hoped he’d burned for dying on the battlefield. 

  
Maybe Tommy Shelby was the worst person to be repenting too, because his list of mortal sins and crimes was longer than the bible, but she longed to get it off her chest. 

  
“Does that make me a monster?” She questioned.

  
Tommy’s fingers fidgeted with the brim of his hat as he solemnly shook his head. Placing his flat cap back on, he sighed wearily and answered:  _ it’s not fair to be forced to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders _ . 

  
She nodded softly in response, letting her head rest against his stiff shoulder. In response, Tommy’s hand formed around her knee, pressing lightly. 

 

For a moment, she wanted to believe everything was going to be alright. That the death of her brother and father hadn’t been for nothing, that her mum would eventually be proud of her again, and that her young siblings would be brought up with the same warmth, security and kindness she’d been granted during her childhood. That maybe the silenced and damaged man providing comfort could be whole again. And that maybe, she’d get back a shard of her innocence. 

  
Maria rested her hand over Tommy’s, the want of being comforted still present, “do you think everything will be alright?” She didn’t want to be specific, nor did she care about hearing the truth. Because, truth was, how could it ever be alright?

  
She didn’t want to hear the truth and her wish must have been readable in her begging upwards gaze. Because Tommy gently brushed a thumb over her cheek, elevating her chin, being invasively close. 

  
_ It will be _ , read his lips, nearly brushing hers, as he squeezed her chin lightly. 

 

She was being pulled closer. Despite the heaviness in her stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of her body pressing against his. She sunk into the warmth of his side, appreciative of the small gesture. For a moment, his touch made the cool Church of Saint Nicholas somewhat warmer and her future a little less bleak. 

  
His kiss didn’t take her by surprise, but the urgency did. As if to seal is promise, Tommy pressed his lips hard against hers and the whole world fell away. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek and for a moment Maria surrendered to the primal desire that lives inside us all. Their kiss deepened as Tommy pulled her closer, until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her own chest. 

 

Inside the house of God, she’d connected with Tommy in ways that should have felt vile and depraved. 

  
Mere minutes ago, she’d prayed to God to help her remain on the path of righteousness. She should stop, break it off, push him away, but by God, she didn’t want to. His touch felt like salvation, the kiss obliterated every thought. Second thoughts, worry, grief and resentment evaporated, all because he felt so good, touching and kissing her. 

  
It was only inevitable that their moment was ruined by admonishing murmurs of spectators. 

  
As Maria wilted back, widening her eyes at an aggravated preacher sending out his indignation in foreigner tongue, Tommy’s reaction was swift and resolute. He tightened the grip around her waist and pulled her on her feet. Staring the evangelist down, he guided her out of the House of God.    
  


.-.-.

 

**A/N: I swear, this just happened. I had absolutely NO intention to make Tommy kiss her inside a CHURCH. And I think that’s why it’s perfect, it just happened. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy of how two characters just spontaneous kissed. Oh and Tommy, being so respectful, taking of his flat cap which means showing his scars for everyone to see. In a poetic kind of way, both opened up and found the right kind of comfort together.**

 

**Have I mentioned Tommy kissed Maria, inside a CHURCH?**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

 


	40. One day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a strange out of worldly way, it seemed that Tommy Shelby, the man who had no religion, wanted to confess. Make amends, repent.

 

.-.-.

 

The tips of her lips still burned and her stomach turned as they exited the Church. Flushed, filled with mixed emotions and anticipation, she peeked over her shoulder to the agitated preacher. 

 

What on earth had erupted between the both of them inside the Basilica of Saint Nicolas? 

  
Tommy didn’t make his feelings visible, but his arm still remained warm and heavy around her waist as he pulled her through the crowd. Maria was clueless of where he was taking her and cherished the way she was being held. He was close, close enough for her to smell the scent of cigarettes and whiskey imbedded into the thick fabric of his coat. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell.

 

She was speechless, partly because she didn’t know what to say and partly because she didn’t want this moment to end.  _ It will be _ , had been a lie, but a sacred one without a doubt. If she’d still believed in fairytales and knew right from wrong, then maybe she would have believed Tommy.

 

It was wrong to find comfort in a lie, it was wrong to find comfort in a kiss, in this close contact, but in all honesty, it was all she had. 

  
She wondered if she hadn’t of asked for a cigarette, how long Tommy would have pulled her along through the streets of Amsterdam. 

 

The burn inside her lungs lasted long enough to foretell her future death-bed, but the comforting shelter of nicotine won. As she allowed herself to breath, grey smoke curled up from her nostrils, matching the gloomy Dutch skyline. 

  
Tommy’s arm had abandoned her waist to light a cigarette for himself and it left her cold. It was strange how comforting and reassuring his strong and deadly hand had felt, resting on the curve of her hip. 

His piercing eyes wandered through the crowd, while hers stayed locked on him. Her body numbed as the toxic stench filled her lungs again.

  
A thousand questions burned on the tip of her tongue but not once did she dare ask because here, in the open, Tommy would no longer lie to her and she wasn’t ready to hear the truth. 

  
Fixated on the end of her cigarette, she nearly missed Tommy’s hands leveling to chest height and reflexively her eyes scanned his motions. 

 

_ Where do you want to go?  _ His hands signed, a central point to stare at because she was still too cowardly to look him straight in the face. 

  
It suddenly occurred to her that today was their last day in Amsterdam and although she disliked the Dutch city with its high crime rates, extensive prostitution district, and drug related activities, Amsterdam did have a lot of hidden beauty.  

  
For the first time since her arrival, she didn’t see the foreign country as a threat, although the memory of staring into the barrel of a gun was still vivid. 

  
The tips of her lips felt sensitive around the cigarette and she exhaled long and deep, her head was such a mess; a beehive of highs and lows, fearing for her life, craving to return a kiss, stealing glances at the man who tasted like Whiskey and cigarettes. 

 

Her cheeks felt hot as she realised she’d been staring at his lips for too long without an answer. Hurriedly, she lowered her gaze and awkwardly tipped the ash from her cigarette. 

 

Coming from a small town, she hardly ever witnessed any high-class culture, besides the pictures in school books. Her parents did not have the money to spend on art and feared creativity might interfere with her tasks around the farm. She didn’t want to burden her parents, so she never asked for money to spend on papers and pencils, although she loved drawing. When her parents took her out of dancing classes she’d been heartbroken but did not object.  

 

She’d never been to a museum before, but then it struck her. No less than half a day ago she’d been held at gunpoint in a room crammed with paintings. The thought alone took her breath away and made her cringe. Surrounding herself with art was suddenly very low on her wish list. 

  
Childish enthusiasm made itself present when another long cherished dream bubbled up. 

 

To keep her face from lighting up like a Christmas tree, Maria took another drag of her cigarette; “I’ve never been to a zoo before.” 

 

.-.-.

 

An animal as large as a house gracefully paced up and down its cage. Pillar-like legs carried the great weight with ease, as it stretched it’s trunk to reach for an apple. Two massive tusks protruded out, impressive enough to make any predator think twice about attacking. 

  
An elephant, she was seeing an elephant with her own eyes and it made her pinch herself. 

  
“I’ve read about them,” she said. Now that she regained her voice, words started to seep out of her mouth like a waterfall, “they can live up to seventy years and the females live in groups. They’re very kind and intelligent. They even show signs of empathy.” 

  
_ That makes them better than most humans _ , Tommy petulantly pointed out staring up at the large passive animal. Amusement and awe lay in his eyes and how could there be anything besides that, when witnessing such a perfect product of nature. 

  
Tommy’s silence admiration was endearing, charming the anxiety inside her chest. Maybe their moment hadn’t ended, maybe her silent wish stretched out long enough to last the day. Just a few more hours in which she didn’t need to think, panic or fear for her life. She wanted to be lost inside the brighter side of Amsterdam and not care who might see how she didn’t allow much space between herself and Tommy. 

  
“There are Zebra’s too,” Maria read from a sign, “did you know that no one has ever tamed a Zebra?” Tilting her chin up to catch his reaction she smiled brightly when he reached for her shoulder and nudge her towards the Zebra exhibit, “you’d be the first man to tame a Zebra.”

  
Tommy scrunched his eyebrows and gave her a questioning look. 

  
Maria responded with a toothy smile: “You know, with your Gypsy magic,” she joked lightly and had to restrain herself from jumping up and down as she spotted a small herd of the striped horses, “maybe Precious would like a brother or two.”

  
When Tommy laughed, her heart leaped. It wasn’t just the sound, it was his expression. The way his face twitched and his eyes changed from their usual cold glance to a much lighter one. It made her smile, oddly aware of how natural it felt. 

  
His hand never left her shoulder as he guided her through the zoo as if he owned the place. 

 

Natura Artis Magistra, was located in the centre of Amsterdam and not only possessed a zoo, but also contained an aquarium and a planetarium. 

 

Planting her hands against the fist thick glass of a marine exhibition, Maria watched a large variety of colorful fish swim by. 

  
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” She gasped breathlessly, “If I could breathe underwater I’d never leave the sea.” 

  
Tommy’s face illuminated in the bluish light of the aquarium, playing with the contours of his face. It made him look ghostly, half-dead half-alive, existing in purgatory. His eyes had lost its warmth and stared vacantly at the thick glass, Maria wondered if he even noticed the exotic fish swimming around. 

  
“Tommy, are you alright?” she asked concerned and repeated his name when her words failed to get through to him. 

  
He scratched the back of his head, granting her an apologetic smile, ignoring her troubled expression as he maneuvered her out of the exhibition into the open air. 

  
There was a tremor in his hand, forcing his fingers to twist around her shoulder. Both ignored it and continued their walk through the zoo. Although Tommy did his best to hide it, soon it became inevitable that there was something wrong with him. The tensing of his facial muscles, the rigid way he scanned through the crowds, he nodded mechanically while listening to Maria’s chit-chat without actually hearing her. 

  
Abruptly, he crouched down to his knees, breathing unsteadily through his half-open mouth, furiously rubbing his face. 

  
He raised his hand when Maria wanted to kneel down beside him, stopping her descend. Unsure, Maria steadied herself on her feet. As a silent witness, she watched Tommy fight and conquer the oncoming panic by squeezing his eyes shut and biting through it. 

  
After a few minutes, Tommy got back on his feet, straightened his jacket and cured the tremors in his hand by lighting a cigarette. The complexion of his facial skin had a sickly grey color to it and the near manic glow in his eyes reminded Maria of time he came into her hotel room petrified and hyperventilating. 

  
“Tommy what-” Maria stopped herself; it was evident that Tommy would not share any of his demons, not at this point. So instead of giving him the feeling that she pitied him, she rephrased herself: “-can I have a cigarette too?” 

  
A fraction of the tension left his face, grateful for her reaction; he took the cigarette from his lips and pressed it against hers. While smoking, Tommy’s avoidance of eye contact remained. 

 

_ It’s the language _ , he bluntly explained with hasty gestures,  _ it’s so alike, in an instant I’m back standing knee-deep in soil and blood,  _ spitefully he chuckled _ , I can fucking smell the Somme _ . Gritting his teeth, Tommy rubbed his eyes and wiped the cold sweat off his forehead. 

 

_ It’s a constant fucking nightmare _ , he silently admitted,  _ and it makes me want to drink more and care less, cause the more you feel, the more it hurts. I can’t have ‘this’- _ Tommy paused his signs to flag his arms at the animated visitors and then dug his index finger against his temple,  _ -cause if I let my guard down, it turns into a fucking massacre in here _ , sucking on his cigarette Tommy vacantly stared at the tips of his shoes,  _ I can’t get rid of the fighting, the dead, it’s all I’m good at. All I’m fucking good at.  _

_   
_ “You’re a fool for believing in your own nonsense Tommy Shelby?” Maria spoke kindheartedly, “don’t you remember? You brought Precious into this world.” 

  
Tommy rolled his eyes frustrated,  _ one horse doesn’t make up for all the men I killed,  _ staring at the palms of his hands he fisted them tightly for a mere moment,  _ I’m not a good man! _

 

“You’re not,” Maria answered truthfully, “but you’re not a monster either.” 

 

In a weak attempt to remain behind hidden behind the mask of callousness, Tommy huffed indifferent, but the returning tremor in his fingertips showed how he struggled to keep up with the train wreck of emotions. 

  
His cigarette fell at his feet, only partly smoked. The professional man was all gone and his eyes were different, less tarnished and dark. 

  
In a strange out of worldly way, it seemed that Tommy Shelby, the man who had no religion, wanted to confess. Make amends, repent.

 

_ I went to France for the same reason as your brother, idiotic heroism. To do good, for once,  _ Tommy started,  _ and the only thing I’ve learned is that us men are no better than beasts, we’re worse. I didn’t believe in God before and when I got back I only knew one thing for certain, we're our own devils. The only thing I bet my money on is the depravity of the human race. And then you, Holy Mary, crossed my path,  _ he stared at her intently,  _ and you don’t make any sense to me. _

 

The way he looked at Maria turned her mouth dry and her courage retreated like a dog being kicked by its owner. It was too much too fast and she hadn’t been able to brace herself for the leaping fall of her heart. 

  
He was her vice, simple as that. Weakening her knees, weakening her heart. Corrupting her moral compass and mortal soul. 

  
And in spite of everything, all she wanted was to be strong enough to carry him to the other side of the world, away from the maddening foreign tongues, the smoke and soil cluttered streets. Allow him a new place, to heal and warm up his frozen heart. 

  
“You can be a good man,” her words were as much as a promise as the one Tommy silently mouthed inside the church. Maybe both their words won’t have any meaning once they were heading home, wearing their suits and Catholic vows to mask their shared hopelessness. 

  
But today, right here in Amsterdam, both their promises meant something. And she hoped they could last one day, until their ferry brought them back to their homeland. 

 

Like a love deprived child, Tommy’s forehead pressed against hers, his hands outlining her features until resting on both her shoulders. Although his body was physically stronger, it was him who needed protection. 

  
Wrapping his arms around her frail body, Maria allowed herself to get lost inside the warmth and closeness, burying her face inside the thick fabric of his jacket. She wanted to soothe and nurse the inner turmoil inside his chest, at least for one day. He deserved to enjoy one day with peace of mind, he deserved a lot more than what life had offered him. 

 

Why on earth did their paths cross if it was sinful to comfort one another? A part of her wished she was back at Small Heath, because in that damned city there were a thousand prying eyes keeping her firmly in line. Here in Amsterdam, she was just a young woman and Tommy was just a man. The absence of all those eyes, her mother’s warnings, Tommy’s scornful relatives, destroyed the boundaries she’d set for herself. Lines were crossed, rules were broken and she kissed him again. It wasn’t bold, but neither was it a simple peck on the lips. 

 

Tommy's response was instant and invasive. It was clear he was older and had much more experienced, pressing up against her, taking control of the kiss.  

  
His hands, capable of inflicting immense harm, simply held her. And it was enough; it was enough to blow away all those crippling thoughts, the resentment towards her own aching body. It casted out the harsh words and fists from her uncle, the belittling glares of her aunt, the traumatizing flogging of her father and her mother’s stern, disappointing gaze. 

  
Besides, their act of comfort happened a thousand miles away from Small Heath. An entire sea separated them from the Birmingham masses. No-one would know and realising that was utterly liberating. 

  
People passed them, unaware of the criminal corrupting the little saint in the most delicate way. 

  
Tommy left her breathless, ending their kiss as sudden as it started. Touching the base of her neck his blue eyes shimmered presumptuous and his lips pursed into a mocking grin. 

 

Feeling a warm flush spread over her cheeks, Maria avoided eye contact and awkwardly took a step back. Tilting her head sideways and forcing her gaze firmly towards the herd of Zebra’s she muttered: “we should go, it’s almost closing time.” 

 

Tommy sniggered, tipping his hat a bit back and returning his arm back around her shoulder, he guided her towards the exit of the zoo. 

  
His body was close enough for her to feel the contours of his revolver inside its holster. Together with the razor sharp peak of his flat cap, it made her feel oddly safe and satisfied. 

 

.-.-.

 

For someone who mainly believed in Gypsy witchcraft and ancient superstition, Tommy felt rather blessed. If there was a God, the bastard had a twisted sense of humor. 

  
Although he’d utterly despised his aunt for fetching him a personal aid, Maria had been a blessing from the start. Of course it lay in his nature to push and kick away anyone who tried to reach out to him. Tommy had always firmly believed that outsiders would ruin him. At times even kin tried to end his life, starting with his father’s angry fists and his mother’s utter disinterest. 

  
Polly had showed him that outsiders could be beneficial, of course it took him ages to trust her and aunt Poll was family by blood.  

  
What on earth was he doing? Rationality no longer conquered his heart and it felt strange not walking around with a secret agenda. For the first time, in a very long time, he simply reacted to impulses and had hesitantly lowered the walls of his fortress of solitude. 

  
Their first kiss had not been planned, nothing had been planned from the moment Tommy decided he would accompany Maria during their last day in Amsterdam, in spite of Arthur’s objections. 

  
He’d felt reluctant to present himself in the house of God, because he had absolutely no reason for being there. Some would say it was an abomination and most would agree if they’d witnessed him kiss a good Catholic lass inside the church. 

  
Poll would claim Maria bewitched him. Because the truth was, Maria did things to him. Her light touches, her shy kisses, brought him more comfort than all the whores who willingly spread their legs. He could not find better words; she made him feel weak. 

  
Yet the longing inside his heart won over the gut impulse to push her away. He wanted her, in every possible way and he could no longer deny it. 

 

Arthur had been right when he called Maria their lucky charm; she had brought about wealth and fortune to their business. She’d been the main reason the Blinders now owned the Shepard, cut a deal across the ocean and Tommy could not recall her asking for anything in return. Besides a roof over her head and enough money to provide for her family. 

 

Maybe she possessed enough innocence for them both; maybe she was enough to melt his cold black heart. To rid him from the continuing war inside his head.  

 

At the market, Maria excused herself and started counting her pennies, “can I change some with your Dutch coins?” she asked, holding up the content of her wallet, “I’d like to buy some gifts for my sisters and my mum,” her face clouded when she mentioned her mother, “she doesn’t know where I am.” 

  
Tommy instantly remembered how she’d pleaded to remain in Small Heath. Back then he still held a grudge against her and hadn’t cared about her dislike of traveling to Amsterdam with them. 

  
“I slipped her some of your sleeping pills again,” Maria uncomfortably confessed, “the night before we left, I did leave a note though, saying I’d be back on Monday.” 

  
It bothered him that during their entire journey across the sea, their travel towards and in Amsterdam, during his nightly meltdown and during their meeting as she’d been held at gunpoint, he’d never dwelled on how she must be feeling. 

  
The poor thing had felt obligated to drug her mother and sneak out of her own home like a thief in the night, only to be pulled into another act of crime. And being her obedient self she never complained about a thing. 

  
Tommy emptied the contents of his wallet, seeking out all of his Dutch coins, handing it over.

  
Maria’s face lightened up and after quickly excusing herself the young woman disappeared into the mass of stalls and people. 

  
Being in the middle of market centre raced up Tommy’s heart, he could feel it thump inside his throat. In a weak attempt to mellow his instant flight or fight instinct he lit a cigarette. Luckily, Maria did not take too long to return, holding up a big paper bag filled with stroopwafels; Dutch pastries, and two bags of tulip bulbs. 

  
“My mum loves flowers, she used to have a rose garden,” Maria said, munching on the sweets. 

  
They headed back towards the hotel complex. Walking through the main entrance, they were just in time to witness Arthur throwing a solid glass ashtray forcefully at the receptionist. 

  
Clearly the Dutch atmosphere triggered something similar inside his brother’s brain and judging by his state, the amount of questionable chemicals only fueled his lack of common sense. 

  
Tommy instantly regretted letting his brother off the leash. 

  
Maria clasped her hands in front of her mouth, dropping her bags as Arthur flipped a massive table.

  
In those frozen seconds between standoff and fighting, Tommy watched Maria shake her head at him, shouting something to stop him. Her lips moved but he could not hear her, senses partly shut off. Because that was how it was to be a fighter, numbing and shutting off everything unnecessary, in order to throw in the first knockout punch. 

  
Arthur never saw it coming and Tommy’s knuckles would leave nasty bruises in the morning. The weight of his brother’s body tumbled down onto the floor and Tommy could feel the cords inside his shoulder ache. Still not fully healed from the dislocation, Tommy flexed his arm, bending his fingers to ease the pain in his knuckles. 

  
Watching over his shoulder Maria stood frozen on the spot, surrounded by tulip bulbs and crumbs. Their gazes met and Tommy nudges his chin towards the crying receptionist. Maria responded quickly, making up an excuse for Arthur’s outrageous behaviour. 

  
Tommy vaguely overheard some terms such as ‘mental retardation’, ‘off his meds’ and ‘paying for everything’, starting with emptying her wallet at the desk. 

  
Grabbing his unconscious brother around the waist he started to drag and pull Arthur towards the elevator. During the war, he’d became accustomed to dragging lifeless bodies towards their nameless graves, but doing it on his own was rather difficult. 

  
Panting and with sweat pouring down his face, Tommy managed to drag Arthur halfway across their floor until Maria caught up.

  
“It’ll cost a fortune, but she’s not going to call the police,” Maria mentioned, dropping her bags for the second time as Arthur’s body suddenly jolted and locked Tommy’s neck in a death grip. Unaware that the man holding him up was his own brother, Arthur started to roar as his fingers cut off his attackers airways.

  
For a moment, Tommy was sure his brother was going to rip his head off and he might have if Maria didn’t deliver a firm kick in Arthur’s groin. It was enough to momentarily stop Arthur and therefore pause Tommy’s strangulation. 

  
“Arthur, it’s us!” Maria exclaimed, towering over Arthur’s tense bearing. Tommy oversaw another horror ready to unfold and reflexively pushed Maria out of Arthur’s range. Hurriedly, he pressed the keys to his hotel room in Maria’s jittery hands and didn’t need to give a second order. 

  
Maria opened the hotel door as Tommy fought to get his drugged up brother through the hallway. 

Not knowing what kind of tripping drugs Arthur had taken, he dodged a few punches to the face, circled around Arthur’s body and managed to pin Arthur’s right arm to his back. 

  
Yanking his brother’s head back by his hair and twisting his arm into a familiar state of torment, Tommy shoved Arthur into his hotel room. 

 

_ Go to your room, stay there,  _ Tommy signed to Maria who seemed ready to bawl her eyes out. 

  
“He won’t try to kill you right?” Maria stuttered.

  
Tommy shook his head, wondering about the question himself. 

  
Shoving Maria away from his door he could see Arthur already destroying pieces of furniture. 

 

_ Go to your room, stay there,  _ Tommy ordered again, not giving Maria time to respond as he threw the door shut in her face. He ducked, just in time to dodge a chair. 

  
Flexing his neck and cracking his knuckles he dug his heels into the expensive carpet, ready for round two.

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: I think, years later, during a night of drinking at the Garrison, Tommy will repeatedly tell the story of how Arthur was a total cock block. Away the romance goes, as Arthur has established to have more chemicals in his body then brain cells.**

 

**I wonder, am I allowed to call the zoo part a date? Yes, I think I can and oh my do I think it’s cute. #BiggestfanofmuteTommy. Artis, the zoo is a real place by the way, I’ve been there a couple of times. It’s one of the oldest zoo’s in Holland.**

 

**I also like to add;  this story is well over 5000 views and that just melts my heart, thank you all for reading, for the amazing comments and kudos!**

 

**Bedazzle me with your thoughts,**

 

**Xoxoxo Nukyster**

  
  



	41. Welcome home,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt like a funeral, without a casket and any last words.

 

 

.-.-.

 

Arthur managed to deliver Tommy a bloody nose. Fearing his dearly beloved brother broke his nasal bone, an endless night of restraining, comforting and fighting Arthur stopped around dawn. When Arthur finally collapsed and rhythmically started snoring, the walls started to come up at Tommy. The stench of fear seeping from his brother’s pores, the mindless rambling, and the bloodlust in Arthur’s flaring eyes, were the main ingredients for an ocean of unprocessed trauma to wash up and pull him back in. 

 

Him and Arthur had been given the worst jobs and the young idiotic rascals they had been, fucking volunteered. It sounded too beautiful, almost poetic, destroying the enemy from within. Blasting those German bastards back to the hell they came from. For king and country.

 

‘But at what fucking costs?’ Tommy wondered, staring down at the unconscious weeping form of his brother. No man came back the same, their loss was universal, was bigger than race, class, religion. Every single one of them was damaged. 

 

Sore, beaten and bloody, Tommy stared at his disheveled reflection in the bathroom mirror. Examining his nose, he could not map out any signs of broken bone. The gush of blood that streamed down his face during the fighting made it look worse than it really was. 

 

Filling the basin with cool water, Tommy attempted to rid himself of all the blood. It had seeped into the collar of his white shirt and dribbled down to the row of buttons, coating the fabric in vivid red. 

  
Mechanically, he washed his face, gently dabbing the area underneath his nose and held both hands underneath the surface. 

  
The red fluid dissolved into the water, turning it pink. Tommy drained the basin and ran the water again, hot this time. 

 

It didn’t matter how hot and how raw he scrubbed his hands, a fine line of blood remained underneath his fingernails. 

 

‘You can’t escape your destiny,’ his aunt Pol had spoken more than once, during different occasions. The result had always been the same; he’d laugh at her, ridiculing her faith.

 

But the truth was, no-one can escape their destiny and he was destined to fight, or die trying.

He’d never been the strongest, or the tallest, but he was relentless. And he fought to win; dirty, violent, calculated. And if it was to the death, he’d fight like an animal. Biting, ripping, choking, crushing. He’d championed over men twice his size, twice his height, twice his weight. 

  
He’d murdered men, played their judge and inflicted their lethal verdict. All in a blink of an eye, without a word, an honest process, a last words. The reason he survived was because they didn’t. Men, some of which had barely reached adolescence, which had made them the easiest to kill. Their lack of life experience was their downfall. With some it was compassion, their hesitance to commit the ultimate crime; murder. With some it was fear, which made them the easiest to kill.  

 

Tommy recalled vividly how he’d used the end of an empty shotgun to cave in the face of a German boy. A boy, a fucking kid, being put in a dead-end situation with a job too despicable for his unblemished hands. 

  
It could take as long as a year to dig a tunnel and place the explosives. It was a deviant, soul-crushing task, which left him on the verge of a nervous-breakdown more than once. Tommy couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen the sun, or smell fresh air. At one occasion Tommy’s battalion accidentally dug into the opposing side’s tunnel and an underground fight took place. 

Shovels, chaos, basic flight or fight instinct and blood filled the cramped space in which two dozen men tried to eliminate the other party. Tommy had been knocked out cold and presumed dead. 

  
When he woke up he’d been left alone, the corpses of the previous battle the silent witnesses of his breaking point. 

  
Determined to at least see the sun and receive the gentle touch of a fresh summer breeze, Tommy ran like the devil was chasing him, which wasn’t far from the truth. But instead of one devil it could be ten, a hundred and instead of flicked forked tongues and hooves, they wore the German flag.  

 

Tommy literally bumped into the German boy in the tunnels; the poor kid had been petrified, pissing himself. Tripping over the copses of his allies the German boy had cried out, which had been his fatal mistake. If he would have kept his mouth shut… 

  
But he didn’t.

  
Deprived from sunlight, fresh air, empathy, morals and at this point, emotions, Tommy’s body reacted purely on adrenaline. The last bit of his consciousness blocked out the snapping sounds of bone and his arms didn’t stop hammering down the shotgun into the boy’s face until he could no longer recognise it as human.  

  
At nights the caved-in face of the German boy, woke him up in a cold sweat, fists clenched and screaming his throat sore. 

  
Tommy watched a tremor in his hands. There was so much blood on his hands; it could fill up this entire bathroom. 

  
Arthur whimpered in his sleep and it felt wrong to leave him alone. Arthur was his brother by blood and in arms, the only person Tommy truly and completely trusted. They shared a bond, nearly as sacred as marriage. For better or worse, since day one. The both of them, protecting their brothers and sister from any form of danger. It started with accepting beatings from their father to prevent the little ones being scarred for life. Their bond had given Tommy the strength to press the detonator, knowing he’d rather die than risk losing the only person he trusted. 

  
Arthur had always been Tommy’s lifeline, beneath the gruffness and crude humour, Arthur had been Tommy’s first and only protector. 

 

Tommy’s love for John was as unconditional, as for the rest of his siblings. But Arthur held a special place upon a pedestal. Because Arthur had always been there; during their hopeless childhood, for better or worse. Arthur had been by his side, in the tunnels, in the hospital.   
  
And right here, right now, in Amsterdam, for better or worse. 

 

.-.-.

 

It became evident in the morning that none of the three Blinders had been granted a good night’s sleep. As an unspoken rule, not a single one of them spoke a word about yesterday's events. 

 

United by silence, they picked up their suitcases and took the elevator to the ground floor.

  
There Arthur found out the ungodly amount of money he needed to pay for their nights spent, Maria’s room services and his personal meltdown at the desk. 

  
Arthur paid, mumbling how Pol was going to have their heads and winked at the receptionist.    
Their first travel to the ferry was extremely uncomfortable. Neither wanted to address Arthur’s black eye or Tommy’s swollen nose. 

  
Their taxi ride back to the ferry occasionally got interrupted by Maria’s weak stomach. A shade of green decorated her pale face when the taxi stopped near the dock of the Hook of Holland. They had about half an hour left and Arthur bought some sandwiches to eat. Most ended up in Arthur’s stomach as Tommy’s body seemed able to live off nicotine alone and Maria’s fear of feeding the food to the seagulls in the near future put her off. 

  
Her gut feeling didn’t let her down and for the first hour and a half Maria remained hunched over the railing. 

 

The three of them raised a lot of eyebrows. Arthur still wore the wrinkled suit he’d used to disguise himself as Dr. Rivers. The heavy amount of cologne could not remove the stench of cold-sweat and alcohol. Then of course, the black eye and heavy bags underneath his eyes made Arthur appear even sketchier. 

 

The insomnia that had nested inside Tommy’s brain and kept him up for at least thirty-six hours had taken its toll. His dead tired red-rimmed eyes nervously scanned over the passengers and the icy cold wind stirred up another bloody-nose. Maria probably received the most unwelcome attention as she heaved over the edge of the railing, holding onto the iron bars as if her life depended on it. 

  
They stood out from the crowd, to say the least. 

 

As the ferry traveled on, Holland disappeared from the horizon, the view of the Hook of Holland swallowed by the endless waves of salty water. 

  
“Thank God we're going home,” Arthur grunted, “those cocksuckers can’t pour a decent beer,” due to the major hangover, Arthur’s usual short-temper had reached an absolute low, “terrible beer, might’ve gotten the crabs from one of those sodden whores, I swear I will kiss the English soil once we’re home.” 

  
Tommy only heard half of his brother’s words of misery, wiping his sleeve over his nose. Dark blood absorbed into the darker material of his jacket. His face must hurt, especially his nose, were it not for the numbing side effects from the two lines of cocaine he’d taken before departing, it would have been much worse. Both him and Arthur had emptied Arthur’s stash in a desperate attempt to remain conscious during their trip overseas. 

  
Tommy lazily smoked a cigarette, anything to keep his fingers from twitching and his mind from racing was a blessing. The chemicals would fuel his sleep-deprived body for a while, but the abuse it inflicted onto his entire system would eventually catch up with him. 

  
Tommy could already feel his energy crumble up inside him. Emotionally drained, the cocaine kept his eyes open and his fingers mechanically bringing the cigarette to his lips. 

 

If Arthur expected a kind word, an attempt to discuss last night’s blur between Amsterdam and the Somme, he was a fool. Tommy had already buried Arthur’s meltdown, because it was too close to his own demons. The scraping of shovels echoed throughout the corners of his mind and every time he blinked, he saw the faceless head of the young German soldier. If he’d had anything in his stomach, he probably would have joined Maria up front, but the lack of food also made him focussed yet dizzy and weak.  

  
Tommy wasn’t sure if he’d blacked out, but when he finally tore his eyes from the endless sea, he noticed Maria sitting beside him instead of Arthur. 

  
Neither made an attempt to start a conversation, both battling their own form of misery. 

  
A familiar void lodged back in between them, in which silence was inevitable because Tommy sure as hell didn’t want to raise the subject. They kissed, twice. He instigated the first, thoughtlessly and impulsive. But she kissed him the second time, sober and fully aware of what her actions meant. 

 

She understood what her actions meant, right? What it meant to him. Even with all the naivety in the world, she surely must understand the consequence of kissing a man? 

  
Or had it been purely comfort? Inside the church she’d seemed so eager for any type of reassurance, kindness, consolation. 

  
Didn’t he go to brothels, purely for comfort, any type of release?

  
It was exactly the reason Tommy did not address the subject of whatever had happened between them in Amsterdam. Although the question seemed inevitable, he’d rather postpone the conversation as long as he could. Because what if it had been just a spur of the moment, stirred by her desperate need for comfort? 

  
“In a few hours we’ll be home,” Maria spoke toneless, wrapping her arms around her chest. She looked as miserable as Tommy felt, so he passed her a cigarette. 

  
He occupied himself by staring at the clouds, keeping his eyes firmly away from her, because his mind was already wrapping its claws around the underlying thoughts of her statement. 

  
“I don’t know what to tell my mum,” Maria finally revealed. 

 

And there it was, while Tommy’s mind was still in Amsterdam, hers was already back in Small Heath, with her family. Where it should be, because objectively he shouldn’t have kissed her. Not inside a church, not as her employer while holding all the strings. 

 

Instead of looking at her, he took out his notebook and scribble down the sentence:  _ then don’t tell her anything _ , tore it off and slid it over to her side. 

 

It was easier to ignore her and push her away. The lack of a decent sleep and food made his emotions run low, while the chemicals kept him numb. It was easier, this way. Craving food, sleep, alcohol, drugs, it was all easier than craving touch, kindness, her. 

  
Presenting himself as a coldhearted bastard was simply more bearable, familiar and safe. They were heading home. Home sweet fucking home and he needed to prepare himself for being the damned king of Small Heath again. Kindness did not suit him and as long as he wore the bloody broken crown, he couldn’t afford to be weakened by emotions. 

  
And so he cut up the fragile fondness that manifested between the both of them during their shared time in Amsterdam, before it had the chance to blossom. 

 

Simply because it was easier that way.    

  
And Maria, being the humble obedient git she was, silently complied. It felt like a funeral, without a casket and any last words. 

  
Maria retreated back to the railing, hunched forward. Leaning on her elbows, the young woman drifted further away from Tommy, sinking back into her private sea of solitude.

  
It was very much possible to mourn someone who hadn’t passed away just yet. Tommy had gotten used to witnessing his relatives shared grief towards him, for the man he’d once had been. Tommy also knew the heartache of languishing a missed opportunity. And he’d done worse, he didn’t just miss it, he successfully ruined it, for his sake. 

 

.-.-.

 

Resentment greeted Maria in the form of bile and a burning throat. The city of Small Heath, with all its filth, smoke and poverty immediately brought her back to reality. It was this city where she truly kissed her childhood goodbye as she hesitantly waited at Uncle Walter’s doorstep. She’d never met her mum’s sister, but had assumed kindness must be in her blood. 

  
It became clear that her aunt and mother didn’t have anything in common aside of blood. And her uncle matched up perfectly with her aunt’s silent grudge towards her sister and her children. 

  
The car sickness strangely felt more like a blessing than a burden; it camouflaged the soft sobs coming from the back of her throat. And as she wiped her watery eyes with the back of her hand, it was easy to blame it on the waves of nausea. 

  
When Arthur parked up front in her apartment complex, she did not expect a warm goodbye and she felt too battered to make an attempt herself. While Arthur picked her luggage from the trunk, she hesitated, cautiously fixing her gaze on Tommy.

  
He ignored her and gave a bored stare at his pocket watch, not giving her the slightest impression of empathy. Surely he must understand what she was about to face, an either hysterical mother or a depressive hollow shell of the woman. Both states had an equal core of heartache and Tommy was the one causing it all. It wasn’t fair that she had to carry that burden alone and Tommy could go home and play the hero. It wasn’t fair; she never had a voice in all of this. She never wanted to accompany him to Amsterdam, to be a part of his scheme which resulted in being held at gunpoint. She would have never left England willingly, travel overseas and momentarily forget her place. 

  
As easily as he’d made her forget who she was, he had easily made her remember what she was; a working class girl, with no particular value other than being his speaker. 

  
“You know what, you are right. You are not a good man,” she hollowly spat as she exited the car.  

  
Her tears left her cheeks damp, but she blamed the drizzly weather. She thanked Arthur for handing her suitcase and wished him well. The gruff man mumbled something about being his lucky charm and granted her a few days off, while pinching her cheek affectionately. It warmed her heart fairly, but it dropped the moment she entered her home. 

 

The twins were over the moon the see their older sister and receive the foreign gifts. Her mum did not hug her back and ignored her completely until the twins started heading to bed. 

 

_ Don’t you dare hand me a present _ , her mother signed harshly as the twins sulkily turned their backs towards them and went to their bedroom. 

 

_ You drugged me and were gone for three days, no doubt off with that devil,  _ her mother signaled, getting close enough to make her uncomfortable. Her mum looked her up from head to toe, leaned forward and sniffed her hair,  _ you smell like cigarettes and cologne! _

_   
_ The inevitable corset tightened cruelly around Maria’s chest and the familiar feeling of inward conflict occupied every space inside her heart. 

 

She’d wronged her mother, drugged her for convenience and only left a basic note. Her mum, who hardly let her out on play dates when she was young, must have gone mad with worry for the past few days. 

  
“Mum I’m sorry I-” 

 

Her mother’s hand slapped her with so much force it made her head bounce to the other side. While her cheek burned, her jaw dropped and in reflex, she stumbled a few steps back. 

  
Her mum’s boney finger pointed at her, eyes pierced in utter disgust. 

 

_ If your father was still alive, I’d ask him to lock you up and throw away the key,  _ her mum signed,  _ your uncle was right, that devil has gotten into you and you know what, I’m washing my hands of it all! I won’t stop you next time you decide to run off in the middle of the night, so by God, don’t drug me, I still have two other children to care for.  _

 

Maria swallowed, once, twice and a third time, to memorize every spiteful word until she felt truly dead inside. The lack of sleep, the continuous motion of stress and sense of hopelessness made her feel utterly numb. 

 

_ Just know that I’m selling my soul because you’re too weak to carry our burden,  _ Maria signed to her mum.

  
After receiving another slap across the cheek Maria laughed hollowly. The woman in front of her was a joke, a damn joke. Lecturing her daughter’s failing attempt to keep their family together and safe, while she’d given up the moment she received the news of her only son’s passing. Their mum never found back any of her strength. Although her physical presence remained, her mind had dwelled elsewhere, reminiscing over the life she lost, failing to acknowledge the children who were still among the living. 

 

_ If you would have been more of a mum, or woman, instead of turning into the weeping widow, we could have stayed in Cranleigh! We might have lived inside a shed or a box, but we could have stayed home!  _ Hot angry tears started to form in the corner of her eyes and the simmering heat of rage seemed to boil her from the inside out.

 

_ But no, you didn’t think we could be strong enough alone, that we could be independent and so you dragged us all the way to this miserable place to slave for your sister’s family who didn’t want to take us in the first place! I’ve been beaten, ridiculed, even spat on and you NEVER tried to defend me from Uncle Walter, my cousins and aunt Mirjam!  _

__ _   
_ Maria rummaged in her pockets and tossed the content of coins all over the floor and continued her vent;  _ here is your blood money and don’t you dare to be spiteful about it! I might have done things that would shame the devil, but I’ve done it all for you and April and May. I’ve done everything to keep my loved ones safe. That’s more than I can say from you! _

 

She welcomed the darkness of her windowless bedroom as an old companion. This dear old friend fitted her overall state of misery. 

  
Nothing was fair, nothing made sense anymore. The people she cared for treated her like dirt, it was maddening. Lost and confused, she curled up in her bed. The blanket and mattress still smelled damp and musty, but the softness was comforting. 

 

Her head felt like a ball of tangled yarn; an endless mess off loose ends and tight knots. And the worst thing was that she didn’t have anyone to turn to. There wasn’t a single soul in this city who she could trust with her heartache. 

  
Through her tears she had to chuckle, it was a cold and empty sound. What did she honestly think would happen once they returned to Small Heath? A miracle? Did she honestly dare to believe that a few stolen kisses would make everything alright? That Tommy would all of a sudden be blessed with a fresh pair of brains, unburdened from his traumas, both inside and out? 

  
Wasn’t it pathetic that after every awful thing that happened to her, she still wanted to believe in miracles? She wasn’t anything special, she just happened to be of convenience. 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: Welcome back to Small Heath, the place that shatters all hopes and dreams. With the first part of this chapter I wanted to make you all remember that Tommy is a murderer. I know he’d gotten a little soft in the last two chapters, so I basically wanted to rub in everyone’s face that he caved in a young man’s face, in detail. Again, welcome back!**

 

**Hands up from the poor souls who thought that things would improve. Nope, of course not, that would be too easy. There are too many aspects in both their lives/character that still prevents them from opening up. There is family, there are trust issues, there is the fact that the first woman in Tommy’s life didn’t love/care for him, there are a lot of things that make it hard to fix a happy ending. Plus, there is an empire that needs to be created. So business before pleasure.**

 

**P.S this will probably be the last chapter for a while, I’m going on a holiday for +- two weeks. So please enlighten me with your thoughts, those are tiny little muses!**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

  
  
  



	42. End with a Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Polly entered her sister-in-laws house for the first time in years, she re-discovered the light.

 

 

.-.-.

 

Maria granted herself a full day of bed rest. She’d placed her chair underneath the handle of the door and ignored all the knocks, kicks and pleads from both her sisters. She’d stubbornly hidden her head underneath the pillow, with her eyes squeezed shut and knees pulled up against her chest. 

 

A sense of deja vu swept over her, the desperation she felt was a sneaky reminder of the first night after she ran away from Uncle Walter. Without any spare clothes, hope and only a handful of money. She’d booked a room inside a hotel and cried her way into the next morning.    
It was odd, how lonely she’d felt in the middle of a city cramped up with thousands of other unfortunate souls. Shared despair should be a good unifier, yet it divided and merely contributed to hostility. No-one wanted to have each other’s back; no-one cared to share a dime to the less fortunate. She’d witnessed that neither blood nor religion mattered, Maria’s only logical solution was to flee. She’d been the rotten apple, the tainted one who dragged her family's name through soil and sin. 

  
Fully believing that she was the problem, the dirt in everyone’s eye, she’d considered ending her life inside the filthy hotel room. It would be easy to slit her wrist with the razor blade sown inside her bucket hat. 

  
It had been tempting. 

  
But she remembered something her father once said to her, after he’d been forced to put her favorite horse down. The poor animal had managed to get its leg trapped in barbed wire. Due to fear, it had managed to pull itself lose, but damaged its lower leg until the bone showed.  _ The hardest decisions in life are not between good and bad or right and wrong, but between two goods and two rights _ , her father had said, loading his shotgun. 

  
At the time Maria had hated her father for killing the horse. She’d been too young to understand that allowing the horse to live its life would be to condemn it to be in pain and discomfort. It didn’t feel good to end its life, but it had been the right thing to do. 

 

So rather than killing herself, she needed to do the right thing. Because suicide could not be the answer, she had no right to take her own life. 

  
Inside the hotel room she’d made a promise to herself; take a full day to weep, then a full day to rest and on the third day, she was going to pull herself up from the bed, freshen up and find a new place in the world. 

  
Unlike the terrible nights inside the hotel room, in which she’d been scared out of her mind and completely powerless, she now held status. Her main concern, her family, was safe and had a roof over their heads. She had money, decent clothes and food. 

  
So on the second day, after she heard her mother leave to take her sisters to school, she got out of bed, pulled on her best outfit and went to the bathhouse. 

 

Inside a private bathroom, she indulged herself in sandalwood, cinnamon, Arabian fragrances and cherished the hot water, well aware she deserved all of this. She spent a good amount of her morning washing her hair, massaging her temples and scrubbing every inch of her body.    
When her fingertips matched the texture of raisins and every muscle ache eased, she got out of the bath. 

 

Enlightened, refreshed and cleansed she left the bathhouse, heading to bakery. 

  
Spending a great amount of her wallet on sweets, tarts and chocolate, Maria picked a quiet place and sat down against the wall of the shop.  

  
Maria stubbornly ate until she felt sick. The comfort food wasn’t enough to fill the gaping hole inside her chest, but it was fulfilling to be able to buy such an amount of pastries and eat them all by herself. 

  
“Hi there voyager,” Ada’s voice sounded from above. The Peaky girl towered over her with a glint of humor in her eyes, “did my dear brothers forget to feed you overseas?” 

  
With her mouth stuffed with Brandy Snaps, Maria muttered something unintelligible. If she could wish Ada away, the catty young woman would vanish into thin air. 

  
Ada ignored Maria’s obvious distress and huddled down next to her. Without asking for it, Ada snatched a fruit scone from the sticky paper bag. 

  
Shoulder to shoulder, Ada declared that her scone wasn’t half as bad as it looked and took another bite as she eagerly eyed her silent companion. 

  
Maria had her full of being up close and personal with a Shelby and glared at Ada: “what do you want from me?” 

  
“Tut!” Ada pouted her lips, “can’t I simply be joyful and golly to see my best friend back in one piece?” receiving a non-convinced stare from Maria made Ada rapidly continue to business: “Aye, aunt wants to know details. Tommy and Arthur aren’t sharing any. Big old fuss, neighbours were not pleased. They have this little three months old shit you know? I swear, that kid will drive me up the wall every night, can’t have a decent sleep and then everyone expects me to get up in the morning and function. Times are hard for girls like me.” 

  
“You mean girls that twirl entire cities around their Shelby fingers, oh I bet you’re exhausted,” Maria retorted sarcastically, “would you like to trade for a day or two? Amsterdam was just marvelous; having a gun pointed to my face was the cherry on top! Oh and the trip of getting there was all fine and dandy if you forget the fact that I’ve been throwing up the entire time.”

  
Ada nudge her shoulder; “oh look who’s finally getting some attitude, good for you missy. So Amsterdam huh? How was it?” 

 

“Like Small Heath, but worse,” Maria commented sourly, “more prostitution, more loud drunks and more drugs.”

  
“Oh I bet Arthur was having a field day!” Ada sniggered, clasping her hands together, “now, enough chit-chat, what deal was made in Amsterdam?”

  
“What? Hasn’t Arthur already told you?” Maria asked.

  
“Told me?” Ada huffed, “Arthur doesn’t tell me shit, I overheard, which wasn’t so hard because our walls are thin and all our voices are loud. What I heard was that they made a legal deal with a company in Amsterdam. But when Poll wanted details Arthur was awfully vague and Tommy, well, let’s say he plays the role of an imbecile rather well. Just sitting there, ignoring everybody. Yup, that’s my lovely brother these days, not caring for his sister for a moment. I swear I’ve never seen him so eager to go to the Shepherd with the boys.”

  
“They went out on the day they came back from Amsterdam?” Maria asked baffled, remembering very well in what poor state they’ve all been after returning to Small Heath. 

  
“Of course, fucking dogs. They went out to celebrate, leaving me with a fire spitting aunt. Oh and they celebrated well if I have to believe their stories. Well Arthur’s stories, because John passed out on the kitchen floor and Tommy doesn’t speak. I’m not sure how much money you bunch made in Amsterdam but I sure as hell know they spent half of it at the Shepard on drinks, drugs and whores.”

  
Maria clenched her arms around her full belly as her stomach took a drastic turn. Instantly regretting the sickening amount of sweet she just shoved down her throat, she weakly nudged her head up to Ada: “did they spend a lot of money? All of them?” She asked, not wanting to draw any suspicion in her sudden interest in Ada’s brothers, Tommy to be precise. 

  
“Yup, damn scoundrels. Seriously as a sis, I do not need to be informed on how well my brother’s dick works, but for some reason Arthur found it necessary to let me know he’s every girl’s wet dream,” Ada took out a silver cigarette box and held it out to Maria who eagerly took one. “He dared to call John a pussy for staying faithful to his Chinese fling. But I think it’s rather romantic. It’s nice to know at least one of my brothers are able to keep it in their pants for a night, right?” 

  
Maria mechanically nodded, cigarette trembling between her fingers. Chewing on her lip, she feared that the answer of her upcoming question would make her throw up her lunch. 

  
“And what about Tommy?”

  
Ada stared at her, raising an eyebrow: “What about him?”

  
Feeling how the sugary sweet taste in her mouth turned stale Maria said: “did he book a prostitute?” 

 

Ada snorted and shrugged her shoulders; “no, of course not.” 

  
Maria relaxed, only to be shattered by Ada’s next words: “he can’t speak, Arthur booked one for him. The brunette with the big tits, so classy, right? Men…” she huffed and lit her cigarette.   
Maria didn’t respond, instead she jumped up and hurried into the back alley, ridding herself of everything sweet.  

 

.-.-.

 

Polly nearly lost her faith. After losing her children to the authorities, she did not think she’d ever see the light again. Her days had been dark, endless, empty and useless. Losing her husband was a small hiccup compared to losing her kids. She’d never considered herself a good wife. She talked back, too much according to her -often drunk- husband. She was a damn disgrace when it came to household chores, according to her -often drunk- husband. She wasn’t a useful wife, because she couldn’t bear more than two children, again, according to her - often drunk- husband. 

  
When he died, she’d grieved for a while. She missed him, the bright sides of him. But with two kids running around, she had her hands full. With days spent kissing hurts, cleaning smelly diapers and taking upon the role as both father and mother, there was no time to dwell on her sorrows.  

  
That all changed when her house was empty, deserted by her two angels. She was all alone and her old demons started to play tricks on her. Maddening grief and heartache made her hear their soft voices, day in, day out. Plagued with their ghosts Polly had to flee her house and found safety in the roaring household of her sister-in-law. With a lousy husband who came and went, three young boys and a girl, Nee Shelby was at her wits end. Polly’s sister-in-law had never been the brightest tool in the box and had the emotional stability of a cat being thrown in the cut. The neighbours referred to her as a fruitcake and although it pained Polly, she had to agree. 

  
Nee Shelby was an unfit mother, spineless as a snail and incapable of maintaining order in her own life, let alone giving her children any rules and stability. 

  
When her brother was still in the picture, Polly never visited. Call it cowardice, but she simply couldn’t stand watching her own brother be so barbaric to his children. Incapable of standing up for her nephews and niece, she turned a blind eye to her brother’s side of the family and simply showered her own children with all the love that she could give.   

  
For years, both families lived around each other. There were no shared Christmas’s, birthday’s and at their mother’s funeral there hadn’t been much more than a few simple words passed between Polly and Arthur Sr. 

  
It took a while before Polly heard word that Nee Shelby had been abandoned by her deadbeat husband and was about to send her kids to an orphanage.

  
When Polly entered her sister-in-laws house for the first time in years, she re-discovered the light. As she stepped over layers of filth, dirty clothes and used diapers, Polly’s heart ached and tears welled up in her eyes as she noticed her young niece stand in a pile of cat shit, wearing nothing more than a torn shirt. Ada’s huge frightened eyes and hollow cheeks were the result of utter neglect and abuse. As Polly came closer, the girl started crying and fled towards security. Most children would reach towards their mother’s skirts, but Ada threw herself around the waist of her brother Tommy who’d failed to get the stove on. The bewildered prepubescent boy instinctively pulled his sister close and reached for a steak knife, clenching his teeth towards the presumed danger. 

  
When he registered the identity of the unwelcome guest, he lowered the knife a few inches, but kept his sister close to his chest. 

 

_ Ma, it’s for you _ , he’d shouted and didn’t wait for a response,  _ she’s in the bedroom _ , he’d informed her and continued his task to warm their place up. 

  
Nee must have been six month pregnant and stank of cheap gin. The stale smell of cigarettes hung around her like a cloud and the curtains of her bedroom were shutting out every inch of sunlight. In the middle of chaos, clutter and filth, the expecting mum sat on her bed, staring at the walls. After a short, awkward hello, Nee shared that she didn’t recall the whereabouts of her two other sons, nor the time or date. 

  
Halfway into their conversation, Tommy walked in, dropped a plate of overcooked potatoes and carrots and walked out again. He didn’t bother to acknowledge his mother and glared at Polly, making her aware that her presence wasn’t welcome. 

  
When she came back the next day, with dry firewood and a basket filled with bread and apples her two other nephews had been present. Their state wasn’t much better than their brother and sister’s, but their faces lit up when they saw the gifts. She’d even brought some of her children’s toys, figuring they’d be of use in the Shelby household. Tommy allowed her to use the stove and circled around her, watching every step she made as she made them a decent meal. 

 

While the rest of the children were relieved to see their mother leave her bedroom and join them for a meal, Tommy kept a firm distance between the women who gave him life. Brooding, he silently judged his mother’s weak attempt to smile, plucking at a stain on Ada’s dress. 

  
Later that night, when he was brushing his sister’s hair and getting her ready for bed, Polly felt the need to tell Tommy how proud she was on him and his siblings. 

  
His answer was a scoff and he said the line he’d keep repeating non-stop over the upcoming years:  _ leave, we’re not your responsibility.  _

 

But they were and would remain her responsibility until the day she died. She loved her niece and nephews more then she valued her own life. It wasn’t just a desperate need to repent, because the facts were that she’d abandoned those poor children for years, knowing what a monster their father could be. Arthur, Tommy, John, Ada and Finn had been her light, her reason to go onto, to wake up in the morning. They never took the place of her own beautiful angels, but they filled a void that would have been too excruciating to bear. 

  
None of them ever referred to her as ‘mother’ or ‘mum’ as her own children lovingly had called her. And she’d never expected them too. 

  
What she did expect from them was respect, loyalty and perhaps, egocentrically; love. Polly wanted to feel that pure, childish form of love again and it felt like a punch below the belt to be challenged every time she tried to establish any bit of structure. 

  
Her nephews lived as savages, lice and fleas jumped at her feet with every step she took.  Desperate times need desperate measures. She wanted to cut off those perfect hiding places for those darn pests. She’d have their mother to force them down on a chair as she butchered their dark manes with the stainless steel scissors. Tommy’s eyes had been smoldering but he’d allowed the head care.

 

When Polly returned the next day, she’d dropped her basket at the doorway, bringing her hand to her gaping mouth. As a silent riot, Tommy had demolished Polly’s forced upon haircut, by shaving of the sides. His two brothers had a matching 'strokes of the razor blade’ and Ada’s hair had been butchered, cut high above the ears, giving her a boyish appearance. 

  
Tommy’s chin tilted upwards as he ran his hand over the dark stubbles, challenging her to say anything. Provoking her to give him any excuse to fight her. To push her away, cuss at her, hurt her. His defiance was the sharp reminder that she’d come back too late. So Polly tried to look past the callous, cruel behaviour of her nephew, reminding herself that deep down there was this precious little boy who’d burdened himself with the impossible task of keeping his family well. 

 

So, even when her nephew fled the fucking country to gain some impossible contract with an unknown business man, she’d kept reminding herself of that same stubborn boy who was in way over his head.

 

A good thing though, because it was against her nature to hurt a child. Although strangling Tommy’s inner-child had been high on her agenda. 

 

‘The fucking balls,’ Polly thought sucking on her cigar, fiddling in her purse to find the keys of the bakery, ‘the fucking  _ nerve _ !’

  
Nudging her keys into the lock, she muttered a few curses concerning her ‘precious’ nephews. Turning the keys she noticed how the lock jammed, which made her frown because they’d recently had a locksmith come over to change all the locks, due to Tommy’s expensive dough.

  
But before she had the time to make a mental note of bombarding into the locksmith’s office, a loud explosion erupted from inside the bakery, a force of heath and fire only to be matched by the devil blew her off her feet as a smoldering ragdoll. 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: Oh boy isn’t it going from good, to better, to shit, to absolute worse? Oh and I love it! You… well might not like it as much but hey these are the Shelby’s not the Brady Bunch.**

 

**Also I made a few tiny adjugements in chapter 9 of this story, feel free to read that one through, I mainly changed a few ages and added a few words of wishdom.**

 

**To be continued…**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

  
  



	43. Promise with a kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Found her,” John exclaimed, pushing Maria right back into the world she’d wanted to escape.

 

.-.-.

 

Precious was a sleek black beauty. His muscles, strong and well-proportioned, rolled underneath his supple coat as he trotted through the ring. His flowing mane whipped through the wind as he neighed with delight to be out of the stables. 

  
Maria watched her horse with pride, holding the lunge line. It would take up to a year before she’d be able to ride Precious but until then, she wanted to do everything to keep him in perfect shape and become familiar with the line, whip and saddle. 

  
Curly was eager to bathe her with all the horse facts known to man and prattled to her as she took Precious back into his box. 

  
Picking mud out of his hooves, Maria came to realise just how much she missed the farm life.  Big, genuine eyes saw right through her. Precious’ comforting sniffles in her hair made her able to steady her feet, relax and get away from reality. 

  
The damp smell of ammonia, deep golden hue of old straw, the half empty hay net hanging limply in the corner of Precious’ box, the sound of the door hinges creaking, wind whipping around the stable, reaching through the gaps of the planks. It felt like home.

  
“Where the fuck is she?!” John Shelby came in nearly tearing the door off its hinges. Maria could not detect or reason what she could possibly have done to unleash his fury, but it became evident she was his target. 

  
“Why weren’t you home? Been tearing that slump of yours all over, but all I found was that mumbling mum of yours!” John did not bother to give her a moment to react as he yanked her out of the box.

 

“Arthur gave me a few days off!” Maria stuttered, frightened by John’s hostile nature.

  
“Well, you can kiss those days goodbye now, Tommy needs you!” John spat at her, urging her towards the doorway.

  
“Can I at least change?” Maria pointed out, as she still wore her riding pants and a sweaty blouse.

  
“You can change in the car,” John snapped, dumping her bundle of clothes in her hands, “we’ve gotta go!”    
  


The few minutes ride from the stables to the East-End of Small Heath was painful. Maria had been dumped in the back and did her best to change swiftly, but her hair got caught behind a button, which left her awkwardly sitting in clear view with only her bra to shelter her breasts.    
Although John’s clearly disliked her, it didn’t stop him from taking a long peek at her bare skin through the rear-view mirror. 

  
Maria scornfully glared at the back of his head, buttoning up her dress. Running her fingers through her hair to untangle the mess, she shot forward and bumped her head when John hit the brakes. 

  
The scoff coming from up front told her enough, he’d done that on purpose. 

  
“Ready, princess?” John asked malicious, holding open her door.

  
Bundling her riding clothes together, Maria stepped out of the car and was startled by the smell of fire and burnt bread. 

  
“C’mon!” John grabbed her elbow again and shoved her through a maze of spectators, lining up behind police men. Maria’s mouth dropped, the bakery had burned down. 

  
The wooden skeleton of the building had survived the fire, though blackened and charred. Both neighbouring buildings had been damaged too, leaving the walls crumbling. Glass lay scattered through the streets along with the remains of bread and pastries. 

  
Maria notice a hearse and two workers carrying a body bag. She could feel her knees shake and buckle, she was suddenly grateful for John’s strong grip. 

  
It appeared as if a bomb had gone off. The civilians knew it, the police knew it, but the fire department would class it as an accident. ‘A gas leak’, was what Arthur was instructing the head of the fire department to report it as. An accident meant no investigation and no asking questions the gangsters would rather not answer. 

  
“Found her,” John exclaimed, pushing Maria right back into the world she’d wanted to escape.

  
Arthur paused his orders to the head of the fire department, “where the fuck were you lass?”

 

“You gave me a few days off,” Maria excused herself, “I thought-” 

  
Arthur threw his hand up, no longer interested in her and picked up his conversation with the firemen again. 

  
Although the fire had been extinguished, the heath still smoldered from the burnt down building, flakes of ash fluttered through the street like light snow. 

  
Tommy stood near what once had been the entrance of the bakery, facing the damage. 

  
“Tom, I got your cheeky little-” John started but didn’t have the time to finish.

  
Tommy spun around on his feet, eyes shimmering like the last bits of burning wood inside the shop. In his hand was a small origami dragon, which he immediately pressed in John’s hand.

  
_ Translate, _ he signed to Maria,  _ what the fuck does his Chinese bitch know? _

 

“Tommy wants to know what your Chinese lady friend knows,” Maria translated from Tommy’s sign language.

  
John stared from Maria to Tommy to the small dragon in the palm of his hand. Crushing it, he cursed and threw the paper at Tommy’s feet.

  
“You think Ai had anything to do with it?!” John exclaimed loud.

  
_ The Red Dragon did this,  _ Tommy signed. 

  
“The Red Dragon did this,” Maria translated to John, scanning over Tommy’s furious motions. Unsure of how she could wrap it up nicely, she just blurted: “That sly cunt of yours has been by your side since we cut a deal with the Chinese. It’s not a coincidence that the second we made a better deal, that fucking fossil burns our cover-up to ashes.”   
  
“Ai loves me, she’d never do anything to-” John started, but got interrupted by Tommy’s cold laugh and clapping his hands. 

  
“She’s got you good Johnny-boy,” Maria translated when Tommy signed, “by the balls.” 

  
Stabbed in his pride, John reached forward, grabbing his brother by the collar: “Oh and you're the one to talk? You can’t fucking function without your little bitch holding your hand, who says it’s not her screwing with us huh? Have you seen her for the past two days? Do you know how long it took for me to find her? Ever thought that maybe she could be your snitch?” 

  
Two pairs of smoldering eyes stared in Maria’s direction. John’s wild accusations left a bad taste in her mouth and made her voice tremble.

 

“I haven’t done anything, I- I swear!” She stammered, staring anxiously from Blinder to Blinder.

  
Tommy’s face remained expressionless, staring his younger brother down, he yanked his collar loose. 

  
_ Ask him to fetch his bitch; we’ll see what she’s got to say for herself _ , Tommy signed.

  
“Tommy asks for you to find the Chinese lady, so she can speak for herself,” Maria said with a soft voice, afraid to meet John’s gaze. 

  
“Fuck you Tom,” John snapped and stormed off. 

  
Tommy’s shoulders dropped and a low, endless grunt escaped from the back of his throat. Maria dared to peer slightly up at him. Tommy didn’t just look tired, he was drained. Physically and mentally ripped from energy and care. He was unshaven and unwashed, still wrapped in the same three-piece-suit he’d worn on the day they arrived back in Small Heath. All his buttons had been done up in the wrong holes and an unearthly voice of envy whispered in Maria’s ear that wondered if the prostitute had noticed that too. 

  
Maria quickly hushed that voice; this was not the time, nor the place to think about Tommy’s betrayal. And in all honesty, she’d never wanted to bring it up, what was the use? So he slept with a prostitute, he was Tommy Shelby, one of the men that owned this city. He was the Tommy Shelby, the man who could do whatever he pleased. And he was the Tommy Shelby, her employer who could summon her whenever he wanted, because he owned her as well. Maybe she did not wear a collar, but she was definitely on a tight leash. 

  
“I swear I’m not a snitch, I’ve been in town and at the stables, ask Ada and Curly,” Maria pleaded, because if John’s accusations stuck, she could get into serious trouble. 

  
Tommy stared at her, cold almost cruel. And then he nodded, motioning her to follow him.

  
“Who’s that inside the hearse?” Maria asked frightful, watching the workers pull in the body bag, “who died here?” 

  
Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose, leaving charcoal stains on his face:  _ Mr. T-h-a-d-d-e-u-s W-i-l-k-i-n-s, our loyal baker. He has been sleeping in the back of the bakery since his wife passed;  _ he then motioned her to follow him. 

  
“Where are we going?” Maria asked as they walked towards Arthur and the car. Neither Tommy nor Arthur responded and dejected, she took a seat in the back of the car again. 

 

.-.-.

 

The matriarch of the Peaky Blinders had been hospitalised due to severe second degree burn wounds, on her chest, arms and thighs. There were signs of a concussion; short-term memory loss, dizziness and nauseousness. She’d been put on a high dose of morphine for the pain, which could make her drowsy and apathetic. 

  
That was all the information the doctor could give them for now and he allowed two visitors at a time, no more than twice a day. 

  
The woman that lay inside the hospital bed was anything but drowsy and apathetic. Through the blurred medicated gaze lay enough spit fire to smolder hell. Unable to reach for their hands, Polly’s bandaged arms wavered underneath the crispy thinning sheets. 

 

“Shh, don’t talk aunt Pol,” Arthur whispered, “Doc says to save your strength.”

  
Tommy didn’t know where to look, so he stared at the tiles of the ceilings, not long ago he’d counted them all. There were one hundred and forty four.  

  
“We think it’s the Chinese,” Arthur started, sitting down on one of the iron stools, pulling Tommy down with him when his younger brother didn’t do it on his own accord, “John’s investigating right now.” 

  
Tommy couldn’t help but roll his eyes, clasping his hands together. Today it was guilt that tried to destroy him, from the inside out. It was a nice change from the usual self-loathing, though it burned even more. 

  
He did this, this was his fault. He got cocky, way over his head. Went to Amsterdam like a bull in a fucking China shop. And now that owner took revenge. Which was a reasonable thing to do; if he’d been in the Red Dragon’s shoes he’d probably done the same, because the Chinese had always been the silent yet biggest drug traffickers in Small Heath and now this other party came in, snatching that first place behind their backs. 

  
Word travels fast, even faster in Chinese. He didn’t think the Red Dragon would be this bold though, which was not only foolish of him but also lethal. 

  
The Red Dragon nearly took out aunt Pol, while he, the fucking mute with a silent death wish, still walked around unscratched. 

  
Arthur went on about how the police was handling it, that Ada and Finn were safe and sound, locked up at home with four men on watch twenty-four hours a day. 

  
Tommy listened to his brother’s reassuring calm words and watched as Arthur’s hands shook on his lap. Their family could have lost a member today and it brought Tommy right back on his feet. It didn’t matter how much they had in their bank account, or cash in their safe. It didn’t matter how many free drinks and suits were on the house. 

  
What mattered was, what has always mattered most. Keep kin safe. Everything else were minor issues. 

  
He could have lost aunt Pol today. And maybe Ada tomorrow and Finn the day after. His cockiness and ego nearly burned Polly alive, all because he became too greedy and wanted to expand too fast. 

  
Clearly he should have cut the middle person out, literally. 

  
Glancing up, his eyes locked with Polly’s in a shared understanding. 

  
“Kill ‘em,” Aunt Pol whispered with a hoarse, gravelly voice that did not hold any sympathy. 

 

Tommy leaned forward, carefully brushing ebony curls out of the way, before pressing a kiss on his aunt’s forehead. 

  
That was a promise, he’d end the Red Dragon’s life even if it was the last thing he’d do. 

 

.-.-.

 

**A/N: So hands up for everyone who thought I’d let aunt Pol die. Hah, got you there didn’t I?**

 

**So, I’ve made up two OC crooks and I didn’t plan to murder them both, but it seems like I have no choice now that Tommy made a promise. Which put me in a quite difficult position, because let’s refresh your memory. The Red Dragon has an office in the middle of the Chinese market district. And may I remind you that the Red Dragon ordered to dismember Russo and send him off in pieces? Not the nicest bloke to mess with. But a promise is a promise, because no-one fucks with the Peaky Blinders, not even an old OC Chinese villain.**

 

**Sidenote, John is a serious asshole to Maria, I simply can’t make him nice in this fic. I think it’s jealousy to be quite honest. Because some outsider was taken to Amsterdam instead of dear old John. I think John forgot that he needed to remain in Small Heath, because if something happened to Arthur and Tommy, he’d be the man of the house.**

 

**All kinds of comments/feedback will be appreciated,**

 

**Xoxox Nukyster**

 


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